


Welcome Back

by Deferonz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But I mean Byleth's entire mission is to prevent that from happening, I put major character death in the warnings, Mostly Lighthearted?, Multi, Sothis and Byleth are basically in a Buddy Cop Film, Takes itself pretty Seriously?, Time Loop, Time Travel, Warning: Dumbass humor, Will definitely have some angst, i honestly don't know what to put here., so y'know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 181,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deferonz/pseuds/Deferonz
Summary: Byleth Eisner has been living the same six years of their life for... Hell, they can't even remember how long. The one thing they do know is that they won't accept a world where a single one of their students or loved ones are killed, and that means more than a little trial and error. Still, at the very least, they have a companion on this seemingly endless journey, one who'll be with them every step of the way, even if, really, neither of them had any choice in the matter at all.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis, My Unit | Byleth/Sothis
Comments: 193
Kudos: 239





	1. And Once Again

_“Welcome back.”_ A voice speaks to her softly.

She sighs, a long, drawn out thing that has only gotten wearier with time.

“Good to be back.”

\-----

His sword blazes a path through Gronder Field.

It cuts down ten, twenty-five, fifty soldiers before he brings it back around, letting its coils return to their natural position.

“It’s him!” He hears a lone voice call out. “The Son of Nemesis!”

A small frown appears on Byleth’s face as he dodges a lance heading straight for his head, knocking it upwards with his shoulder and charging inwards, impaling the man on the other end of the weapon with his sword. In the space of a moment, he rips it out of him in an ugly showing that sends viscera flying towards the crowd in front of him, briefly blinding them.

In that same motion, he allows his sword to separate once more, flaying several troops as if they were fish he’d found on the end of his line.

He rather hates the nickname they’ve given him this time, even if it is slightly better than ‘The Empress’ Bitch.’ Ferdinand and Dorothea hadn’t let him hear the end of that one for… gods, he’s fairly sure they’d still called him that on his deathbed.

Or… had it been **her** deathbed at that point?

The memory makes his senses slip, and for just a moment, he questions if the thief that’s managed to sneak up behind him, preying upon his own inattentiveness, is truly going to cost him a pulse.

An arrow flying through the air embeds itself in the woman’s windpipe, and though he’s had plenty of archers under his command in the last… years… he knows that particular shot quite well.

It belonged to his eldest.

“Appreciated, Ashe!” His voice is strong, or at least, he likes to think it is. “Front line, Advance! Unto the platform!”

\-----

He’s kneeling now, cradling the badly charred, barely breathing body of Bernadetta in his arms like she isn’t a fully armored enemy warrior. He’s holding her as if they were lovers, torn apart by the flames of war, and made to fight one another.

He supposes that makes sense, given that they had been, once.

Not here, however.

“Ah… Is that you, professor?” Her voice is quiet, wobbling, and weak. He can’t truly hear it over the flames and battle around them, but he’s learned to read lips over the long days he’s spent in the classroom, keeping track of his students quiet whispers. “I… I’m sorry… I…”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice is almost the opposite of hers. He likes to think it’s strong, a beacon that his students can latch onto when they find themselves distraught.

Or, in this case, when they were going through their final moments.

“But… you were always there for me… always… always kind, and…” Her eyes glaze over, and he can tell she has merely seconds. The healing spell he’s been trying to bring her back with dies out in his hand. It was never going to be strong enough, and he knew that without anyone having to tell him.

Living Vessel of a goddess he may be, but unfortunately, that didn’t mean he’d inherited any special ability for Faith, beyond the ones he himself had possessed from birth, and some offensive based light magic.

Unfortunately, such abilities were terribly limited.

“I’m sorry.” He leans down, bringing his lips to the girls forehead in a kiss that, long ago, held a special meaning between them. “I promise, I’ll save this land. I’ll save you, and everyone else. I won’t let a single one of you perish.”

Bernadetta opens her mouth to speak, but no noise comes out. She passes with a small sigh, as if lamenting her place in the world.

He could rewind, but it wouldn’t matter. He could save her, surely, but that wouldn’t change anything in the grand scheme of things.

The root cause for her death would still remain.

He reaches down with his hand and shuts her eyes, a small smile adorning his face, despite the grisly scene. After so many deaths, after hearing his students scream and beg and tear at their throats as flames or blades or poisons took their lives from them, he’s learned to be at peace with the silent goodbye’s.

He tells himself that, at least. He tries to ignore the shaking in his hands and legs as he turns towards the edge of the flaming platform, forgetting for a moment the fires that burn at his ankles, uncaring of the way they peel away his skin.

“It’s been a long time, Edelgard.”

The girl, no, woman before him is no taller than she’d been the last time he’d seen her, which had acted as an endless source of teasing for him and the rest of the Black Eagles whenever they’d held their war-room talks, or sat quietly together in the palaces mess hall.

He snaps himself out of his memories, even if it truly doesn’t matter at this point. Whether or not he’s fully aware of what is to happen doesn’t change that it must.

“Professor. And…” The woman spares merely a glance for Bernadetta’s body, a small click of her tongue, before she looks back up at him, raising Aymr with one hand and pointing it at him. “I thought you would go easy on her, how… lamentable.”

He bites back the snide remark hanging on the edge of his tongue. It’s not as if he cares what the woman thinks of him, not here, but he likes to think of himself as someone who wouldn’t rise to bait as weak as that.

“And I thought I’d instilled enough love for your fellow students back in the academy for you to not throw them into traps, one’s deliberately designed to kill anyone standing on them.”

“Had she been stronger, this-”

“Don’t.” He speaks simply, breathing calmly despite the rage coursing through him. It’s not rage for her, but for himself. “Don’t bother with your ideology right now. After all, here, we’re merely two soldiers on opposite sides, correct?”

Edelgard’s face briefly warps, and for a fleeting moment, he sees the kindness that he knows lurks underneath her dark veneer show in her expression. It’s wiped away by an absent glance from her retainer, Hubert, as the man steps forward, a fireball in his right hand.

“If you would like, your majesty…”

“No.” She speaks, breathing deeply as she steps forward, and Byleth can feel the battle stiffen and still around them, soldiers from both sides all too curious to see the resolution to this moment. If he’s trained his own well enough, then they’ll abuse this window to score some fatal blows on the opposition. “I’ll do this myself. I owe you at least that much, Professor.”

He finds himself smiling, despite it all. He’s always able to smile when it’s his students holding the blade to his throat. It’s always easier to accept that you’d pushed something too far, that you’d made a mistake somewhere, than it was to accept that you’d simply failed, been slaughtered by a hungry bandit, or starved to death, or been burned at the stake for being a heretic.

For the first time, he feels the flames upon him, and shudders as the pain wracks his body.

He hates burning most of all, it truly is his least favorite way to die.

“Professor!”

“Byleth, No!”

Claude’s and Dimitri’s voices echo across the canyon, their last-ditch efforts to reach him falling flat as they find themselves swarmed by armies and armies of Empire soldies. They’re fodder to the two men, but it doesn’t matter. Even a slab of meat set in front of them would force them to waist a few moments stepping over it.

“Goodbye, and… if it means anything?” Edelgard smiles, a tiny, sad thing, barely held together by the girl’s sheer commitment and will. “I really did love you.”

“It does.” He answers as he shuts his eyes. “Trust me.”

He feels pain, a terrible lurching sensation, and then nothing.

\-----

“Dear Goddess!” The tiny girl in question swears to herself, at herself. “That girl continues to give me a headache!”

“I swore we’d done enough to make sure she wouldn’t fling the rest of your little tykes at you,” “But no, she just **_has_** to bomb the platform!”

Byleth nods, allowing his veneer of a perfect leader, a loud, strong, and outgoing teacher, to fall away, instead replaced by a much quieter and more reactive persona.

“Still, we’ve definitely perfected getting Claude and Dimitri to team up, so that shouldn’t be a problem…” Sothis strokes a make-believe beard, evidently thinking hard about something or another. “We just need to figure out now how long we need to devote to Edelgard and Rhea to keep the two from going at each other like wild dogs.”

“And dealing with Those Who Slither.” Byleth reminds her, massaging his neck rather normally as if it hadn’t just been cleaved off by a semi-living axe. “And dealing with the aftermath… that’s always the hardest part.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, but if we can get the beginning down to a science, I really think we could start streamlining out these lifetimes!”

“You say that as if we don’t have to live them every single time.” Byleth smirks, joking around with his partner. “It’s still another year before we get to see our results.”

“And yes, I admit, that **_is_** rather annoying.” The goddess relents, before floating over to him and pointing a finger directly at his face. “But still! We can do this.”

He gives a small, exhausted smile, leaning forward so that their foreheads are touching.

“Of course, we can.” He speaks honestly.

“N-Now!” The girl separates from him, a blush adorning her features as she turns around. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” He answers.

“Back to the start.”

\-----

He wakes up in his father’s tent, the same as always.

“Welcome back.” The goddess’ voice rings true, as it seemingly always has.

He smirks, feeling a familiar drowsiness wash over his body.

“Good to be back.” His response is mechanical.

As he has in every lifetime since the second, he reaches down and gropes his own chest. He feels a bit more mass there than there’d been during his last life, and, if he’s not mistaken, his hair is quite a bit longer as well.

Byleth lets out a sigh as she stands up, stretching to get the early morning grogginess out of her system.

“Honestly, I don’t see why anyone would ever want to be a woman.” She speaks rather crassly. “Menstruation alone is a total deal-breaker.”

“You do realize you’re the only one who’s ever had the chance to try out both, right?” Sothis’ glares at her, totally done with Byleth’s attitude, an attitude that only she ever truly has to deal with. “Quite frankly, men have it too easy.”

Byleth lets out an agreeable hum, before she turns and looks around.

“Besides,” The tiny girl floating beside her speaks out, a wry smile upon her face as she gives her a once over. “I like you better like this.”

“Help, father, I’m being preyed upon by a prepubescent goddess.”

“Hey!”

“Speaking of, dad should be getting in any second now…” She walks towards the edge of the tent, hiding just out of sight of the entry way.

When it comes to people that Byleth could be more outgoing around, there are pretty much only three.

One is Sothis, the companion stuck with her forever on this doomed venture of theirs. Another is Dimitri, the boy she’d spoken to and traveled with more often than any other student at Garreg Mach.

And the last is her father.

When the man enters the room, coming to wake her for the morning’s assignments, Byleth lets out a playful growl, pouncing forward slightly so the man will see her only in his peripheral.

His sword springs from its scabbard at a speed few others on the continent could manage, and only narrowly halts before it would cleave her head from her shoulders. Jeralt lets out a horrid sigh, and, if he were not partially ageless, she might’ve feared he’d lost a few years of his life.

“By the goddess.” Jeralt leans against the wooden support beam holding the tent up. “You – I – I could’ve…” The man seems caught between relief and anger. A moment later, however, he seems to settle on the latter. “If you ever do that again-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Byleth raises her hands in surrender, a tired smile adorning her face as she lets out a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me you haven’t forgotten.” Her father lets out a quiet sigh, and if Byleth concentrates hard enough, she feels she can almost see a small affinity box drop ever so slightly. “We have a mission in the Kingdom.”

“Oh, right.” Byleth hadn’t forgotten. It’s quite hard to forget about something when it’s the first thing you wake up to every time you die. “Sure, I’ll be ready.”

A mercenary pushes their way into the tent, the same as they always do, a panicked expression set upon their face.

Byleth zones out their dialogue, yawning once more as she tries to shake off her exhaustion. Going from a warzone to a simple battlefield is always a bit of a tone-shift. Even if people are still being killed, it’s a different kind of stimuli. Nothing really compares to Gronder Field, especially not when the three sides clash in total anarchy.

 _“Or like that time where we accidentally split the Leicester Alliance and the Kingdom in half, so five armies were at each other’s throats.”_ The girl smirks, speaking to her inside her own mind, and Byleth shudders just thinking about **_that_** particular lifetime.

 _“I thought we agreed to never mention that again?”_ She rebukes the goddess. _“That was our fourth go of it, and we were still trying to kill Edelgard back then.”_

_“Yes, well, I thought it was hilarious.”_

_“You would, given you’re a goddess with no concept of wasted time.”_

_“To be fair to me, you’re also a goddess. You and I are one, after all.”_

_“Yes, yes, thank you, Seiros.”_

_“Oi! I take offense to that!”_

When Jeralt steps outside of the tent, alongside the mercenary from earlier, Byleth follows silently behind, trying to zone out the angry goddess raging inside of her head. She’s oddly cute like that.

_“I can hear your thoughts, you know!”_

_“I’m aware.”_

As she looks up, she sees the three young men and women who will determine the fate of their countries, of this continent, and hell, of this very world. The sight of the three of them, standing calmly beside one another, always sends Byleth for a loop. In another six years, these children would be at each other’s throats, tearing and clawing for supremacy, trying to destroy one another.

And yet now, they are classmates.

It’s Byleth’s job to make sure that, when the war comes for them, they remember that.

\-----

Byleth’s first lifetime was an odd affair.

Back then, Byleth had been a silent, almost invisible force behind Jeralt’s band of mercenaries. He’d been the ashen demon, and when Alois had come to collect them, taking them to Garreg Mach, he’d sort of just gone with the flow.

He’d certainly not expected Rhea to make him a teacher, given that he had next to no experience with training anyone, beyond instructing some of the newer mercenaries in sparring matches, and even that had been more rough housing than anything.

He’d gone and rather nervously interviewed the students of Garreg Mach Monastery, doing his best to get a handle on them from their house leaders, and then on the rest by speaking to them directly. He’d been late getting back to Rhea, and by the time he’d been ready to select his house, the woman’s teasing smile had been almost too much for him to bear, not to mention the same expressions from Manuela and Hanneman.

Still, after that many hours of soul-searching, he’d at the very least known who he’d be teaching.

“I’ll take the Blue Lions.”

From there, events had passed as normal, or, normal as they’d come to understand them later on in their many lifetimes. If they didn’t alter with the timeline at all, then the chain of events would go from the mock battle, to Kostas’ bandits. It would follow into Lord Lonato’s rebellion, and then, finally, they’d get back their sword.

They’d go on to face Miklan, Flayn would be kidnapped and rescued, and then the first true battle of the Eagle and Lion would occur. They’d lead their students to victory there, and then again in Remire Village. Then… Jeralt would be killed by Kronya, and then the girl in question would be sacrificed by Solon to send them to some dark dimension.

They’d fuse with Sothis, carve their way out with the true sword, get different colored hair, and try and stay sane as Rhea had a giant freak out, sent him to a tomb, and tried to get him to hear a revelation from Sothis. She had no idea he heard several revelations from the goddess a day, most of which were along the lines of “I’m hungry” and “You’re annoying”.

Still, Edelgard would interrupt, Dimitri would lose himself, and Claude would be off… being around.

Byleth may’ve spent several lifetimes at the boy’s side, but even still, they’re not sure what to make of Claude before the boy begins to trust them.

Depending on who they side with, things are messier and more complicated around this point, but that doesn’t change that Garreg Mach will be attacked, and, regardless if they’re defending it or one of the ones attacking, they’ll still be knocked out for a good five years.

In their first lifetime, such a fate had been cause for panic. Now, it was merely a cause for great annoyance. The five-year jump was when Byleth figured out if their changes had done what they’d meant them to do, or if they’d died on the cutting-room floor, like they usually tended to.

Occasionally, very, very occasionally, they’d change far more than expected.

Still, he’d walked to Garreg Mach, found a half-dead Dimitri, and promptly killed a lot of bandits as his old class reunited. There’d been battles, far too many of them, on their way to Gronder field. One particular one had been Dedue’s return, after he’d thought the boy dead, but that had also been where he’d had to cut down two of his students for the first time.

He had not known many of the children well outside of the Blue Lions on his first life. Admittedly, Ferdinand and Lorenz had both struck him as a little too above it all, almost annoying in their commitments to nobility, or, in Ferdinand’s case, to saying his own name rather loudly.

That hadn’t made cradling them in his arms any easier as they’d breathed their last, especially with Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes behind him, silently crying as they watched two of their fellow’s candles burn out.

Even Felix had been down later in the day, and practically nothing had been able to sway that boy, no matter what Byleth had tried. He’d learn later that the Fraldarius’ heir had many things to deal with, far too many for someone his age.

But Dimitri had pushed on, never once stopping, heading to Gronder Field with murder in his eyes, and they’d been powerless to stop him as he’d charged forward. He’d used up every single divine pulse he had on the battle, but Leonie, Raphael, Lysithea and Bernadetta had all met their ends even still.

He’d not had one to save Rodrigue, either.

But Dimitri had become the person he was meant to be through his death. He’d shaped up, apologized, and led them back into the Kingdom to free it from Cornelia. It had taken them a while, but they’d succeeded.

It had all been going terribly well, which should’ve perhaps been the first sign that things would soon trend downwards.

They’d lost Catherine first. She’d taken an arrow meant for Flayn, an arrow that had pierced into her left side, and into her heart. In barely two minutes, it would be the end of her. He’d already used every other divine pulse that day, and so he’d simply stomached the loss, stomached the horrid cries, even Ashe’s own laments. He and Catherine had, somehow, become friends, despite everything the woman had done to him.

That boy had always been too kind, which was why it didn’t surprise him when he was the next to fall. He’d pushed Cyril away from a blast of fire from one of the massive Demonic beasts that Edelgard had brought forth. He’d not even cried as he expired, merely asking, over and over, if Cyril was alright.

Byleth had barely been able to nod as he held the boy’s charred hand, watching the life leave his eyes.

It had been Dedue next, taking a blow for his Highness, then Sylvain, overrun by Demonic Beasts, and yet somehow killing every single one before bleeding out from his wounds. Felix, in a rage that none of them had ever seen, charged into the enemies lines on his own, Killing Casper, Lindhardt, and dueling the Death Knight down to the wire before the latter’s scythe cut into his stomach, gutting him for all of them to see. Even still, Felix had cast one last Bolganone, cooking his opponent alive in his armor.

Mercedes’ best healing spell hadn’t been enough, and despite her sobs, and those of everyone else, Felix had died with a smile on his face.

Their assault on Embarr had been quick and brutal. Petra’s death had been quickly followed by that of Hubert’s, and then they’d marched on Edelgard. The woman was, at that point, no longer human to any of them. Simply another demon that they had to kill.

The assault on the throne room fell only to the battle at Gronder in terms of bloodshed. Mages far too powerful to contend with, waves and waves of loyal troops, and Edelgard herself. They’d managed to fell her armies down to the last man, and Byleth had simply refused to lose another student.

When Edelgard finally fell to Areadbhar’s Atrocity, the ghastly skin clinging on to her had gone away. She’d been alone, left with no one, and looking up into Dimitri’s cold eyes.

Despite everything, the man had still offered his hand out to her.

She’d answered with a single dagger.

The next few months had gone by in relative calm, but there would be no true peace for any of them. Dimitri’s station took him far, far above the rest of them, and Ingrid, Mercedes, Annette, Flayn, and Cyril, along with Manuela, Hanneman, Seteth, and Shamir, were left to pick up the broken pieces of their class.

Two months later, after returning to mercenary work, he received notice that he was requested to take on the role of the Archbishop.

He’d declined.

The scars of the war had run too deep, and by the time he found himself at the end of another empty bottle, he’d done the only thing he could think of to end the pain and run himself through with his own blade.

\-----

_“Well, look who we have here.”_

He’d only been able to answer the goddess with a broken stare.

 _“To think, after all that, you’d take your own life…”_ She’d sighed. _“You do realize we’re connected, right? Your life is my life as well.”_

Byleth hadn’t cared to respond.

 _“Fine, I get it, you’re traumatized about all of this, I understand.”_ Sothis had tapped him on the forehead, making him look her in the eye. _“But before you go giving up, I have a proposition.”_

He’d looked up at her, eyes curious despite the pain lurking behind them.

“I’m listening.”

\-----

 _“Welcome back.”_ Sothis’ voice had called for the first time.

He hadn’t answered.

\-----

Even upon seeing the spires of Garreg Mach for the perhaps the hundredth time, she can’t help but gasp at the sight of them. Her smile is radiant as she inclines her head slightly towards the others, who are each giving her an odd look, as if they’d never guessed her face could show such emotion.

“Kid, try not to act out too much.” Jeralt sighs at her, running a hand down his face as he tries to zone out Alois’ incessant attempts to tell the man of their lives apart. “I know this is a bit weird, but we should put up a respectful presence. This is the archbishop we’re dealing with.”

“Act out?” She questions, wondering if she’s already done something odd. “Like what?”

 _“Wouldn’t be the first time.”_ Sothis teases inside her head, hands under her chin as she floats alongside her, looking to all the rest of the world a lazy babe. “ _I feel I must remind you once more that we share thoughts. Please stop referring to me so crudely.”_

_“Then stop being so easy to tease.”_

“I mean your smile.” Jeralt’s voice is a complicated mix of worry and amusement. “I get that this whole thing must be a bit bizarre, but-”

“Actually, I’m just impressed with the scenery.” Byleth calls back to him, letting the honesty in her tone carry her sincerity with it. “I’ve never seen such a wondrous structure before.”

“Then allow me to be the first to welcome you to Garreg Mach Monastery.” Dimitri speaks before any of the others can, giving a slight incline of his upper body that could’ve been construed for a bow. “If I may, might I ask if you’d consider serving the Kingdom of Faerghus? We’re always looking for people such as you to aid us.”

Ah, here came the recruitment speeches. She’s never quite sure why the three latch onto her as quickly as they do, but they do, seemingly every life, no matter the impression she gives off.

 _“Technically not true.”_ Sothis interjects, wagging her finger from side to side. “ _That one time you killed Edelgard the second you saw her was a pretty good deterrent.”_

 _“Yeah, and then I was court-martialed forty seconds later.”_ Her eyes narrow as she turns her gaze towards the goddess. _“New rule, the second life is off-limits as well.”_

_“Oh? Even though it was only two weeks long?”_

_“Especially because it was only two weeks long.”_

She gives idle chatter in response to the other two’s attempts to woo her to her side, and quite literally woo from Claude, who tries to give off a mature and mysterious air that he’s just not quite as good at five years in the past.

Oh, he’s good alright, just not quite as overwhelmingly charismatic as his future self.

Edelgard is, as always, a bit hard to understand. At this point, Byleth’s gotten good enough to read Dimitri like an open book, having spent lifetime after lifetime with him. Claude, well… he’s a bit of an enigma, and at times rather difficult to understand, but she’s able to navigate conversations with him quite well nowadays. Edelgard, on the contrary, is actually far simpler than the two of them, and it’s _that_ that makes her so terribly difficult to deal with.

She is unwavering in almost everything. If one isn’t with her, they are against her, and that extends to Byleth herself, or any of the other Black Eagles. Even in the lifetimes where she’d seduced the younger girl to her side as a member of the Blue Lions or Golden Deer, the young empress had not been able to be swayed, and killed Byleth herself, letting her tears fall upon them with sorrow and sadness, but not regret.

If one wanted Edelgard on their side, then they were on her side, and that was final.

Breaking that rule was, perhaps, the most important objective of all of these lifetimes.

Sure, she’d, admittedly, gotten rather sidetracked over the course of her many attempts, but keeping all of her students alive, being unwilling to compromise on any of their happiness’s and livelihoods, is the reason she’s doing this.

It just so happened that Edelgard’s war is usually fairly instrumental in her students’ happiness.

Well, that, and Those Who Slither in the Dark.

Which just so happened to be an entirely different can of worms she didn’t exactly feel like opening up at the moment, and so she left that for later. For now, she zoned back into the conversation, hearing Alois finish a story about a time he and Jeralt went drinking together that Byleth is fairly sure she’d heard more times than she’d breathed in all her lifetimes.

They enter the courtyard in a cheery mood, and she turns to look at the uppermost balcony, where she knows a certain someone will be looking down on her.

Rhea appears, just as forecast.

She’s ageless, limitless, and yet, somehow, she feels almost ephemeral. Rhea is such an odd nut to crack. For one, Byleth has the woman’s approval from minute one, her unquestioned trust in almost all matters before the five-year jump, during which she tends to… disappear. It’s a perspective further influenced by her tenure in the Blue Lions, for if she does not alter with the timeline at all, then Rhea truly does disappear up until the very end if she stands by Dimitri’s side.

There’s also the fact that Byleth’s technically… sort of her mother? And also, her granddaughter?

 _“Sothis?”_ She asks the tiny Goddess. _“Thoughts?”_

_“Best not to think about it. Especially given the both of your… History’s with one another.”_

_“Y’know what, that sounds good.”_

She sees the woman speak, but the distance between them is far too lengthy for her to work out exactly what she’s said. Byleth’s fairly sure, however, that given the way the Archbishop’s lips have moved, she’s saying something cryptic about time.

 _“Yeah, that about checks out.”_ Sothis yawns. _“She’s nothing if not consistent.”_

Byleth snorts.

They enter the main courtyard, and out of the corner of her eye Byleth spots one of her more favorite people at the monastery. She waves hello to the gatekeeper, and watches as he checks around himself, seemingly positive that he wouldn’t be worthy of note.

 _Ah, not to me, good sir._ Byleth smiles. _You’re one of the constants._

 _“Your fascination with that meaningless boy always has weirded me out.”_ Sothis admits without a hint of shame, as she tends to. _“Hey, earth to Byleth, you’re being talked to.”_

She turns on a dime, not really knowing where to look, and sees that Seteth of all people is the one addressing her.

 _Ah, good._ Byleth mentally moans. _I’m glad I’ve made a solid impression._

It’s Sothis’ turn to snort now.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Seteth sounds unimpressed, and that’s perhaps a nice way of putting it.

“Would you like me to be honest?” Byleth tries for as innocent a smile as she can, but, well…

Even with all the time in the world to perfect her skills…

“No. I would like you to pay attention.” The Saint berates her.

_“It’s hard to get away with shit in front of another immortal.”_

“My… my bad.”

“I will repeat myself once more.” Left unspoken was the insinuation that he would not be doing so again. “You and your father are to come with me. Lady Rhea has requested to speak with the both of you immediately.”

“Right.” She nods, feeling the usual familiarity wash over her once more. She decides to make a pointed effort to smooth things over with Seteth before things get hairy. “Sorry about before. Go ahead and lead the way.”

Seteth can be a bit of an asshole, but, well, he’s also the only sane person in this entire damned monastery, so she can forgive him a bit of dickishness.

“As you say.” The man nods his head to Jeralt, and then, rather pointedly, avoids doing so to her. “Come.”

 _“Great.”_ Byleth lets out a mental sigh. “ _I’ve pissed him off in record time.”_

_“Technically, back in lifetime fifteen-”_

_“Not another word.”_

\-----

Byleth collapses into her bed, which, for some reason, is always her bed, come rain or shine, hail or sleet, Black Eagles, Golden Deer, or Blue Lions.

 _“Not like I’m complaining.”_ She nestles into the blankets and pillows, feeling once more the familiarity of the monastery consume her. _“I never get tired of this place.”_

_“Yes, we all know.”_

She blatantly ignores the childish goddess in her head–

_“Hey!”_

-And focuses instead on the outcome of the day. It’s a lot like almost every other first day at Garreg Mach, scarily so, almost as if most of these events are annoyingly pre-determined.

She’s learned over the years that they are _very_ hard to mess with.

_“Well-”_

_“No.”_

_“…You’re no fun today.”_

Rhea’s greetings had been as cryptic as always, and she and Jeralt had exchanged so many loaded sentences with one another that Byleth had briefly thought herself back on the battlefield. Still, they’d eventually gone their separate ways, her father to his chambers to begin preparing for their new life here, and Rhea to god knows where.

_“Untrue, even I don’t know where.”_

_“…”_

_“I thought it was funny.”_

Still, she’d gotten to see two of her favorite people. Manuela and Hanneman would’ve perhaps struck a normal person as odd, or overly flirtatious, (which they definitely were, to be fair to a normal person), but to Byleth, they were precious comrades. They’d been helping her out since day one.

Quite literally, they’d helped Byleth with lesson plans when _he’d_ come panicking to them at four in the morning of his second day.

She still isn’t quite sure why they’d put up with the him from back then. Well, more Manuela, even the socially inexperienced person he’d been back then had been able to gather that Hanneman’s interest in him was almost entirely based on his unique and nearly unforeseen crest.

And it wasn’t like she begrudged the man for that. Not then, and certainly not now. He had his passions like any of them did.

Still, hearing them talk to her in their kind and helpful tones, expecting her to be a bit slow on the uptake, and more than willing to come to her aid, was incredibly wholesome, but also extremely relaxing. She’d fought to keep her eyes open by penalty of death, because Byleth certainly hadn’t wanted to make an accidental enemy of three faculty in the same day by falling asleep in their presence.

_“I’ll have to do something nice for Seteth later.”_

_“You do realize you just have to rescue Flayn, right?”_ Sothis props her head up on her elbow, despite being suspended in the middle of the air. _“He’s literally never hated us after we did that.”_

 _“True, but that’s a few months away.”_ Byleth points out. “ _Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”_

 _“Not if it costs us precious Edelgard-swaying time!”_ Sothis rebukes her. _“And besides, it’s never ‘the thought that counts’. That has never worked for us! Ever!”_

She groans but relents. The girl’s crass, and a bit annoying-

_“Seriously, stop saying that.”_

-But that doesn’t make her wrong.

“Alright, fine. I’m going to bed.” Byleth says out loud, knowing now that there’s no one around to hear her talking to herself and think her insane. “We can talk more in the morning.”

She reaches over and snuffs out the candle beside her bed. As the light sputters out in their room, she gets a brief look at the expression on her partners face. It’s almost a pout, but it appears as if the girl’s too exhausted to quite manage it.

“Fine, fine.” Sothis descends from the air, laying herself next to Byleth on her bed, despite being able to fully disappear from reality if she felt like it. “Actually, that’s probably a good thing, anyways. I was growing…” She stretches, yawning as she brings her arms back down. “Quite tired.”

“When are you not?”

Sothis smiles ever so faintly.

“Quiet, you.”

The young-looking goddess curls around Byleth’s form, wrapping an ethereal arm around her that the warrior can only feel if she truly concentrates. In response, she decides to answer with one of her own, slipping it under the goddess and holding her close. She waits until she hears the girls breathing even out; a practice Byleth isn’t exactly sure the purpose of, before she continues thinking.

Their relationship is… hard to describe.

Byleth didn’t think that anyone could go on such a journey with another, one spanning hundreds, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years without falling in love with them. A constant companion at ones side for all eternity could be thought of as a blessing and a curse, but to be completely truthful, Byleth had never been able to consider it anything but the former.

Sothis was… too important to her.

But they weren’t exactly madly, passionately in love, either. One couldn’t exactly spend a couple millennia with someone and have it all be blazing hot. It wasn’t like she could get sexual with an ethereal being, either.

They’d had their ups and downs over their multi-millennia trek, including a few lifetimes where they hadn’t been on speaking terms, and a few lifetimes where they’d practically been on a honeymoon the entire time. Still, like the tides of the ocean, their relationship has never ceased to eb and flow.

If anything, Byleth would’ve compared them to a light simmer. They loved each other, and the both of them knew it, but it didn’t need to be constantly reaffirmed. It was an absolute trust that, no matter what either of them said, or thought or felt, both knew was there, always, and without end.

_“…Sounds kind of sappy when I put it like that.”_

“It does.”

She flinches slightly, surprised, but not overly so, that Sothis has been eavesdropping on her thoughts. She looks over but can’t quite make out the look on the playful millennials face in the moonlight.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hm.” The girl laughs softly, snuggling just a bit closer to her, as if to absorb some of the heat from her body. Her voice is a whisper as she speaks into Byleth’s chest. “It’s fine. Besides, you were being cute, which is rare enough to be a wanted spectacle.”

Byleth feels a blush come onto her face, and silently thanks the darkness around them for obscuring her cheeks to the goddess beside her.

“Will you ever remember that I can read your thoughts?”

“I do remember.” Byleth assures the girl beside her as she embraces her, her blush deepening as she prepares to say something even more soppily sentimental. “I just… It’s easy to forget when you’re with someone you’re completely comfortable around.”

“Ooo, trying to make all the ladies swoon tonight, are we?”

“Why must you ruin this?”

Sothis actually cackles, which is a sound she seldom hears from the tiny goddess. Byleth closes her eyes and smiles, a complicated mix of annoyance, mirth, and warmth filling her chest. A moment later, however, she feels an almost wind-like pressure on her lips, and looks over, shell-shocked, to see her partner turning away from her, facing the wall.

“Sorry. I’m no good at this either, but… Thanks.”

Byleth’s no stranger to… romance, but she’s certainly not used to Sothis showing affection… especially as unashamedly as she has just now. She leans into the girl, pulling her into her chest and resting her own head atop her companions. It’s not extraordinarily supportive, since Sothis’ body really just phases through her own, but… well…

“It’s the thought that counts.” Byleth whispers to the both of them.

“Hah.” Sothis lets out a tiny giggle, stifling it with one of her hands.

“Perhaps it is.”

\-----

Byleth awakens the next day to a knocking on her door. She recognizes the pattern as belonging to her father, and so lazily calls out for him to enter without checking to see who it is. One of Those Who Slither could’ve technically been mimicking his knocking style to catch her off guard, but it’s the second day, even those who know she’s here don’t yet care enough, or know enough, to want to try and kill her.

She sits up in her bed and waves as her father enters, taking a brief moment to inspect her room for the first time. She watches his expression shift from a vague amusement to a subtle, but noticeable suspicion.

Byleth wonders silently what it is she’s done to earn that emotion but chooses to ignore it. There’s a high chance it’s nothing at all to be worried about.

“I’ve come to inform you that Lady Rhea’s been asking after you all morning.” Jeralt’s voice is that of calm annoyance. She knows why he doesn’t want the two of them to interact much at all, what with her birth situation, but, well…

The Byleth of this time shouldn’t know.

“Yeah, apparently I’m supposed to pick a house to lead today.” Byleth makes idle conversation, filling in her father, one of the few people in the world she can trust unequivocally, on as much information as she’s supposed to have, and adding in just a bit more for good measure. “The… Blue Lions, Black Eagles, or the Golden Deer.”

“And how do you feel about that?” The man asks, taking on the role of a concerned father as he occasionally does. “That is to say, you’ve been swamped with a teaching gig out of the blue, I can’t say I’d be thrilled in your shoes.”

“Well,” She smirks, deciding to make light of the situation. “It’s a hell of a lot different from mercenary work, but I’ll… give it my best go.”

She decides to leave out the fact that a couple thousand years have made her into the greatest teacher to ever live, and instead changes the conversation topic entirely.

“By the way, when you walked in earlier,” She brings back up for some reason, her curiosity and desire to not deal with anything unexpected getting the best of her. “You had this look on your face like something was weird. Is something the matter?”

Her father looks… genuinely sheepish as he scratches his beard, seemingly having wanted to avoid talking to her about this. For something to make the Blade Breaker sheepish, however, makes it ever more important that she gets her hand on the information.

“Is it a big deal, Dad?” She puts on a bit of pressure, knowing her father has never truly been able to deny her the things she wants. “You can tell me.”

The man sighs, and the action feels weighty. Idly, she gulps, not quite sure she can remember something this big happening in any of her other lives.

_Could it be… a new event!?_

“Alright, fine, fine!” Her father exclaims just a bit too loud. “Your bed… was someone sleeping next to you last night?”

Her eyebrows draw down in confusion, and she turns to look at the structure in question. Just as her father’s stated, however, there’s an indent directly next to hers, as if someone else had been sleeping beside her.

 _“Sorry.”_ Sothis speaks up for the first time this morning, yawning into her hand and looking a tad embarrassed. _“It’s just… last night, after we talked, I wanted you to feel like I was actually there, so I put a lot of energy into corporealizing myself.”_

_“Ah, that explains that.”_

“Byleth?” Her father asks her, and he’s taken a tone that only a parent can have, one where they know their child’s done something wrong, and they’re hot on their heels for it. “You don’t have to tell me about it, but you should be careful, especially if it was a student-”

“No, no, it’s…” She tries to play it off immediately, but instead, a small ball of mirthful energy begins forming in her chest. She looks up at her father as a grin slides its way onto her face and sits up. “Actually, sure, I’ll admit it.”

Her father’s eyes widen, and he seems a bit taken aback by the sudden confession.

“Y’see, she was this really cute young girl, with a doll-like face and long, green hair. We spent the night together, holding one another close,” Her father cringes slightly, likely having wanted to have any conversation but this one, and Sothis is much the same, clearly not that enthused about her description. “But alas, come the morn, there’s been no sight of her.” Byleth plays the part of a love-stricken prince, from out of a play she’d gone to see with Edelgard and the Black Eagles during one of their very few and far between breaks in the Empire. “I’m simply… simply heartbroken, father!”

“And just what, exactly,” A new voice breaks her out of her revelry, and she looks up towards the doorway to see Seteth of all people, looking like he may actually make an attempt on her life. “Were you doing to dear Flayn!?”

_“Flayn? Why would he-”_

She stills suddenly, seeing the way the girl’s father enters into the room, fury in his veins and a storm in his eyes as he, a saint of the church, cracks his knuckles like some common thug. She remembers back to the inscription she’d given her father, telling him about a young, green-haired girl.

At the time, she’d sort of given Sothis’ description as a joke, thinking that it was no harm, and that it’d be a fun prank to play on her father. But she remembered now, quietly, that there was in fact a young, green-haired girl on campus.

She was the daughter of a certain man she’d already made a bad impression on yesterday. The daughter of a certain man who’d just so happened to be coming to her room to retrieve Byleth.

_“Sothis?”_

_“Yeah, what’s up?”_

_“Did I bring this on myself?”_

Her partner hesitates for a moment, before, with a small hum, she nods her head.

_“If it helps, I’ll make sure to place some flowers by your grave.”_

_“Much appreciated.”_

\-----

“It is as she says, Seteth.” Rhea speaks, a soothing, almost motherly presence about her that calms the atmosphere in the room down by quite a bit. “Flayn was with me all of last night, helping me to sort out some books and papers. She was just playing a joke on poor Jeralt, I’m sure she meant no harm to you or your sister.”

Byleth hurriedly nods, wanting to get rid of her current troubles as soon as physically possible. It isn’t like Seteth is an actual threat to her, nor, truly, is practically anyone else on the globe in single combat, but that doesn’t mean she wants to earn the truly scathing ire of one of her more closely kept companions.

“Then, in that case…” Seteth takes a deep, steadying breath, forcing out his obviously still enraged attitude towards her. Instead, he reaches out a hand, offering it to her in what might be the shakiest gesture of peace the world has ever seen. “You have my apologies.”

The man speaks the words like they’re nails carving at his throat, but Byleth chooses to ignore that, instead placing her hand in the man’s own and simply not thinking about how he’s definitely trying to break her palm.

“I’m glad that’s sorted.” Rhea smiles in a mature way, reminding her almost of warm chocolate. “Then, if we may get back to the topic at hand, today is the day that we will ask of you to take your position as a leader of one of three classes, the Black Eagles, the Blue Lions, or the Golden Deer.”

Byleth nods, not at all surprised given that she’s done this a thousand times, and even that’s an understatement.

“I would ask you to go and speak with the house leaders around the school,” Rhea continues as she gives Seteth a furtive look, and the man lets out a heavy breath before excusing himself from the room with a bow. “You’ve met all three of them before. Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard.”

“I know them.” It’s the truth.

“Then I’ll simply ask you speak with them. I’ve no idea of their exact locations, but I have a feeling walking around and getting used to the terrain while finding them will be good for you anyways.” The woman grins at Byleth, and she can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels reassured by the woman’s warmth. “I would only ask you return by dusk, with an answer in your heart.”

Byleth steps out of the main chapel with a contemplative air. The choice of house is, at the end of the day, the largest decision she can make in each of her lifetimes, barring choices like deciding to abandon or protect Edelgard.

 _“So,”_ Sothis calls to her, deigning to step upon the ground beside her. _“What’s the plan?”_

Byleth slows her own walking down so that the Goddess doesn’t have to run to keep up with her greater stride. It’s not as if Sothis can grow physically exhausted, at least, not from walking too fast, but she likes to think–

 _“Yes, yes, it’s the thought that counts.”_ Sothis sighs exasperatedly. _“Now can we focus, what are we doing?”_

She ponders that for a moment, and narrowly avoids bumping into a soldier, dodging him on the path and stopping as she regains her bearings.

 _“I don’t know.”_ She answers honestly. _“We’ve tried tons of different variations on reigning in Edelgard’s behavior in the last few lifetimes, but none of them have been enough. Honestly, I’m getting kind of tired of doing the same thing over and over again. I mean, we’ve been at this for what, ten years now?”_

 _“Eleven.”_ Sothis corrects, for the goddess has always had a far greater memory than she has. _“To be fair, it’s about time for a vacation life, if you want to do that.”_

_“Hmm…”_

A vacation life was, as one might’ve assumed, a break from the hustle and bustle of being an immortal demigod hellbent on saving the planet. Instead, Byleth simply gave herself a lifetime, usually around a year and a half, to cool off and relax. She didn’t have to worry about forging allegiances within her students’ hearts, or trying to make Edelgard and Rhea come to peace. She didn’t have to worry about Dimitri’s growing bloodlust or Claude’s quiet schemes. She instead did what she loved, teaching, fishing, and hanging out with the people she cared about, without any of the baggage.

And if she has to be honest, it doesn’t sound all that bad right now.

But…

 _“No.”_ Byleth holds herself back from a year-long break. _“I want to push for one more.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Sothis’ expression grows excited. _“Then are we going to be joining the Kingdom and the Alliance together once again?”_

_“No to that as well.”_

_“Huh?”_

Byleth could see how Sothis might be confused, but she’d been honest earlier when she’d said she’d been growing just a bit tired of their current routine. Joining the Kingdom and Alliance together, or, perhaps more specifically, getting Claude and Dimitri to come to an allegiance, was not a short or easy prospect. With only a year to do it, forging something of such magnitude takes an astronomically large amount of work. Adding onto that, if it turned out she’d not gotten the exact amount of work she’d needed to put into Edelgard right…

Then it was all for nothing. Back to the start, once more.

Instead, she has an idea. Well, truthfully, it’s not an idea per se, but more of a concept. She’s done it before, this type of lifetime, but the amount of times she’s done this might truly be in the single digits.

_“You’re thinking we should…”_

_“Yeah.”_ Byleth confirms for the girl. _“I’m suggesting we mess with the timeline a little.”_

It’s a rather underwhelming-sounding idea, and Byleth knows it, but the effects that these sorts of lifetimes can have on the world are easily the most severe.

The first time she’d decided to mess with things came from a rather innocent conversation she (Technically he, back then) had been having with Sothis.

It’d been a simple ‘Well, this would be way easier if we got to teach all three houses.’ From Sothis, followed by the both of their eyes widening to comical proportions as they looked at each other, the same idea running through both of their heads.

In her next lifetime, before they’d even interacted, Byleth had kidnapped both Manuela and Hanneman from the monastery, locked them in a broom closet, and pretended like they’d eloped to go and get hitched (The very concept of which would’ve probably earned Byleth the eternal ire of both parties).

Still, her plan had worked, with no other options, and a staggeringly unucky streak as Seteth, Catherine and Shamir suddenly went to the magical broom closet in the basement after Rhea tried to make them into teachers, Byleth had been left with free reign.

In that lifetime, she’d learned more about the way the students of her classes operated among one another than she had in any other. Even though it had only lasted a month and a half before her prisoners had broken out of jail, and promptly had her banished from the monastery for good, she’d gathered information then that had proven invaluable in the thousand or so lifetimes following.

She usually did the same things over and over, iterating slightly every time until something clicked, and she unlocked a new tool she could use in future runs, but those lifetimes were always more…

The only word that came to mind was ‘Wild.’

Usually, Byleth had absolutely no idea where they’d go, and she had no control over them either. They were a bit like a feral beast caught on a chain, and when she broke the steel links inhibiting them, she could only step back, and see what the creature would do.

Still, on the off chance that freed beast could be helpful, on the off chance it could be the difference between her students living or dying…

 _“It’s not a bad idea.”_ Sothis admits, looking up at her curiously. _“So… what shall we do if I agree?”_

 _“Yeah, well, that’s sort of the problem.”_ Byleth admits a second later, not quite meeting the goddesses eyes.

_“I don’t exactly have any ideas.”_

\-----

It’s a bit surprisingly for Byleth when, of all people, she runs into Claude first.

Her talks with the boy aren’t incredibly complicated, rather unlike how they usually are. For today, and perhaps only today, he is as clear as can be. When she asks him about his classmates, the other members of the Golden Deer, he responds quickly and without any hidden agendas, purely with truths, though, notably, he does not hesitate to slip in his usual charm.

She knows it is only so that she might grow to trust him, might grow to join his house, but she appreciates the gesture, nonetheless.

Still, it didn’t stop her from closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of hearing about some of her favorite people. She was about as close as any human could be with practically every member of the monastery, minus maybe Rhea and Edelgard, and that was only because the both of them had killed her way, way too many times for her to feel _completely_ comfortable around them.

They still get along far more than Sothis is okay with, at least, for as much protesting as the girl does on the matter.

The young empress is next, and perhaps the fact that she's close to making a decision already is evident on her face, for the girl’s words seem almost frantic as she asks about the girl’s house. She tries to point out any and every advantage the Black Eagles could give to her. After finishing with her interview, while she steps out of the cafeteria, she notices that Edelgard looks down and away from her, towards the floor, and scrunches her fists into tiny balls.

She tries not to feel too bad about that, even if she’s done far, far worse to the students of her class. Both accidentally…

And purposefully.

She finds who she’s been looking for where she expects him to be. Dimitri is standing in the courtyard just outside the Officer’s academy, though by this time, she can’t help but imagine he’s been waiting there for quite a while, for the sun is beginning it’s descent in the sky, and he seems to be decently tired.

The sight of him, his unwavering will on full display, causes her to laugh ever so slightly. He hears her, and turns towards her, a spring in his step as he approaches that has another giggle bubbling in the back of her throat, though she swallows this one.

“It is good to see you, Professor.” The boy bows ever so slightly, an incline of his torso that has his hair falling and concealing his eyes. “I have been expecting you all day.”

“My apologies.” She smiles, before feeling like she should at least excuse herself a little. “I was held up by the dishes in the cafeteria. I ate seven or eight of them before I realized the time.”

The joke catches Dimitri off his feet, just like she’d meant it to, and she watches with some amusement as he allows himself to relax, his posture growing just a bit sedated.

“Have you never had food of this kind before?”

“No, I never found the chance as a mercenary.” She lies without effort. Lying has become one of the easier things in the world for her, besides her three specialties, teaching, fishing and fighting.

“Though I have a feeling you’re holding out of me, was it not my fellow house leaders who held you up?”

He’s awfully perceptive, though, to be fair, it isn’t like the riddle she’s given him is a tough one to crack.

“Perhaps.” She leaves it at that, before getting back to the topic at hand. “Now, I’ll ask you the same thing I have of everyone else.” She smiles, feeling herself fall back into routine.

“Tell me a bit about the Blue Lions.”

\-----

Much like her very first lifetime, Byleth is technically late in getting back to Rhea. She blames that on Dimitri being too fun to converse with, especially for the first time, where she can see him breaking on the edge of the shell he’s formed around himself ever so slightly. It’s the most obvious when she tells a good joke, and a laugh flies out of his throat before the boy even knows what to do, before he can even process why.

She seen the boy’s journey more times than she can count, but she never grows tired of it. The more she can do to ease the way, the better.

She looks up and sees the room is filled with the usual characters. Hanneman, Manuela, Seteth and Rhea stand at the back of the chamber, conversing quietly among themselves. Manuela, funnily enough, is the first to see Byleth, and gives the others a smirking nod of her head, gesturing towards her.

“Ah, Professor.” Seteth actually manages to make the title sound like an insult. “How nice of you to _finally_ join us.”

Rhea places a hand on the man’s arm, shooting him a knowing smile that has the saint sighing a second later, taking a step back and waving his hand, silently giving Byleth permission to pass.

“My apologies for being late, Archbishop.” She retains a respectful tone, not wanting to give Seteth another reason to be angry. “I was caught up in conversation with my potential students.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Rhea smiles. “Then, as the others are awaiting your words as well, might I have your answer as to whom you will be teaching?”

She’d thought long and hard about the decision, but truthfully, she’d been feeling a tad bit homesick lately. Allying the Alliance and the Kingdom is a nearly impossible task to do from the Kingdom side of things, largely because Dimitri alone is so responsible for his land.

As one of the few remaining members of his family, and, perhaps more importantly, the eventual king, his word carried weight. But Claude had a lot less authority, governing territories instead of ruling them. It was far easier to work on the Alliance’s issues from the interior than it would’ve been from Dimitri’s side, a side which wouldn’t have benefited Byleth at all, given that she could gain the young king’s support rather easily, simply because she knew him so well.

And so, she’d spent the last eleven years at Claude’s side. But even then, the years before that had been spent in Edelgard’s company, trying to learn more about the girl’s family, about her childhood, and about the political situation of the Empire leading up to and after the war.

The last time Byleth had spent time with the Blue Lions had been…

 _“Thirty-seven years ago.”_ Sothis answers softly. _“Even for me, that’s no nap.”_

She feels a wave of melancholy wash over her, and even though she tries to shake it off, she can’t quite manage it. Those lifetimes… what she’d learned during them… what did they amount to? What did it ever amount to? It wasn’t like she’d ever saved all of them. She’d gotten close, terribly, painfully close, lifetimes where only Dimitri had perished, or only Edelgard and Hubert, or Rhea, or Flayn, or Seteth, or Shamir, but she’d never been able to close that gap. It seemed like whenever she chose a side, the others were doomed to die.

Was it worth anything? Was her goal truly meant to amount to–

 _“Hey.”_ Sothis invades her thoughts with her voice, and for once, it doesn’t sound condescending or annoyed, but supportive and kind. _“We’ve got this. All of that information, all of that time… it’ll mean something. I promise.”_

She takes a deep, steadying breath, and lets her insecurities fade from her body. She feels the need to remind herself that it’s the first day. Nothing has been decided yet, the world is still a well of possibilities.

Well, she likes to think she still believes that, at least.

 _“Thanks, Sothis.”_ She smiles at the goddess, before remembering she’s still in the middle of an important meeting and has likely been staring at the ground below her for a solid ten seconds. _“Right, back to real life.”_

She looks back up at the group, and sees that Manuela and Rhea are quite amused, whereas Seteth groans into the ground, seemingly entirely done with the horseplay before him. Hanneman, unsurprisingly, doesn’t seem to mind all that much, waiting patiently for her to speak despite the delay.

She appreciates them all for different reasons.

“Well, I’ve been struggling quite a bit.” She begins, and a small smile comes onto her face as she realizes she’d likely made her choice many hours ago. “But…

“I think I’ve decided.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> So, confession, first story on this website, so if the formatting is like... horrible, then that's why.
> 
> I hope you liked the story! Then again, I think everyone ever has hoped people like their story, so that's nothing special. 'Welcome Back' will get updates... occasionally? It won't be weekly, but it probably won't be as long as a month, either. I don't have a set schedule for this one, but I hope you stick around anyways!
> 
> Fair warning, I might get some things wrong Timeline/History wise at some points in the story, and also some little bits of stuff, like characters movesets and whatnot. It's been a few months since I last played the game, so my thought-process on it's a bit rusty. If/when that happens, feel free to let me know, I'll fix anything I can!
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated, even if all you're saying is "This sucked!". 
> 
> Anyways, I suppose I'll see you when I see you!


	2. An Accidental Discovery

_“It’s over.”_

_The voice sounds horribly worn, panting and breathless as its owner steps forward, drawing their axe around and bringing it to bare, holding it out in front of them as they use it to prop up their opponent’s chin._

_“Dimitri.”_

_Byleth watches from the outskirts. She, too, is barely hanging in there, having fought an entire battle alongside the empire forces at Tailtean Plains. It’s been incredibly hard fought, and as she looks around, she can’t help but want to vomit._

_Rhea has run off, retreating behind the last remnants of the Kingdom’s armies and her own, loyal forces. Even still, her students from the Blue Lions, Sylvain, Mercedes, and Dedue haven’t been so lucky._

_She’s killed Felix, Ingrid, Rodrigue, and so many others on her way here. The blood on her hands is caked on deep, a red far deeper than she can ever hope to comprehend. No, the color is black, now. Dried, dull, and lifeless._

_She watches with deadened eyes as Edelgard steps up to Dimitri, the final opponent still on the stage before them, and brings her axe above her._

_‘Things…’ She thinks to herself. ‘Weren’t supposed to be like this.’_

_“To think…” The figure before the Empress sounds almost amused, so far into rage has he fallen. “To think you’d betray everything… everyone… For what?”_

_“In order to make the world I dream of a reality.” Edelgard replies with an air of calm, yet Byleth notices the way her lips shake, her will faltering, if only barely. “Even if it means stepping over the corpses of those I once thought of as friends, I will do what I must.”_

_If it’s possible, Dimitri grows even more disillusioned, his eyes losing focus on the woman standing before him._

_“To think, I…” He laughs, a quiet, miserable thing. “How hilarious.” He looks up at Edelgard, and some of the rage that lurks within him comes to the forefront as he bares his fangs. “I won’t… rest…”_

_Somehow, despite the wounds covering his body, and the spears jutting out from his back, Dimitri still finds the strength to crawl forward._

_“I must… kill you… for all of those… who have fallen!”_

_And now, Edelgard seems to feel only pity. Byleth can see it in the way her expression shifts, how she is no longer speaking with Dimitri, her long lost friend._

_Now, she regards him as only a beast._

_“Our paths were always destined to lead to different places, to different ideals. For that, I am sorry.” She raises Aymr above her head. “Goodbye, King of Delusion.”_

_Byleth watches as the axe is brought down, and, even as Dimitri’s lungs burst, and his blood pools on the grass below, he still manages to speak one final line, filled with nothing but hate, and a long since broken dream._

_“To the fires of eternity with you… El.”_

\-----

Byleth’s eyes snap open.

She sits up slowly, trying to dispel the lingering guilt that hovers over her. Her first life by Edelgard’s side… trying to see things from the girl’s perspective…

It had been a fairly terrible first impression.

She gets up and out of bed, knowing that, as this is her first day teaching, it’s time to go and impress some kids.

“You have the maturity of Sylvain sometimes.” Sothis speaks up from the doorway, having materialized right in front of her. “I assume you’re going to show off, as always?”

She appreciates the girl’s attempts to distract her from her nightmare, and falls into their little routine, joking and teasing with one another to keep themselves occupied.

“Sothis,” She speaks under her breath, opening her singular cupboard and beginning to dress herself. “There are about three things in this world I hold dear to my heart.”

“Myself, your students, and…”

“And looking cool in front of them.”

Sothis sighs.

She makes her way across the courtyard, all the way over to the cafeteria. Breakfast is served from six o’clock onwards, so she decides to go ahead and get something to eat early. Having done so, finishing her food within ten minutes, she packs up and heads down to the classroom, where she knows a certain group is waiting for her.

Since it’d been so late the previous night, her students had simply been informed they’d be meeting with her tomorrow. She liked to imagine they’d been terribly disappointed, groaning to themselves as they had to wait another day to meet her.

_“You’re having entirely too much fun with this.”_ Sothis berates her from inside her head now that they’re walking through the Monastery proper.

She pointedly ignores her.

It’s around half past six when she finally steps inside the Blue Lion’s classroom. Their lesson doesn’t technically start for another fifteen minutes, but, unsurprisingly, she finds her entire class is already here, sitting in their seats, and looking towards her.

She smirks as she walks past them, traveling through the middle row of students until she’s stood at the front of the room, behind her podium. She gazes across them, double-checking quickly that everyone is here, and decides now is as good a time to begin as ever.

“Well then,” She speaks simply. “I suppose I should introduce myself.”

\-----

Her introductions go how they almost always go. Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe are fine with her from the get-go, totally accepting of her tutelage from minute one. Sylvain’s also fine with it from minute one when she is, as she is now, female.

Ingrid, Dimitri, and Dedue all reserve judgement. The former two are much kinder, resolving to wait a few days before they voice any opinions, but the latter is colder, more off-putting.

It’s funny, she can remember back to her first life, when such an impression had left Byleth feeling more than a little awkward around Dedue, until _he’d_ found the boy in the greenhouse, tending to his flowers. Despite what he’d though of the man, the gentle giant had gone on to tell him, just a little, of Duscur’s history.

A few months after that, Dedue would ask him to go to said place, and help stop a rebellion before it could be culled. After that mission, Byleth had earned the boy’s unwavering trust. Perhaps not to the same degree as Dimitri, but one in which he knew he could rely upon him if the circumstances required it.

Felix is, as always, the most difficult of the class to deal with immediately. He’s brash, and uncaring of the way that makes him seem. He is, also, more than a little sexist at the start of his journey, and she can’t help but be a bit annoyed that he holds that same feeling over Byleth as well.

“Alright, we’ll start today with some light sparring. Nothing too terrible since we’ve got a mission at the end of the month. No fighting past your limits, got it?”

They all nod, though none are particularly interested. She knows they won’t be, but, well…

Training is training.

“I’ll be pairing you up myself, and then, after a while, you can split up amongst yourselves.” She looks over all of them. “Is that alright?”

“I’m down.” It’s Sylvain who speaks up first, turning towards Ingrid a bit teasingly. “Ingrid, think you can keep up with us manly men?”

He is glared at by both her and Felix, though Byleth can see that it only amuses the wannabe Casanova. It’s a bit funny that even here and now, Sylvain’s messing with the Fraldarius heir. The two have a complicated relationship, but it’s one that’s backed up behind a friendship the two have shared since childhood, and one the two will cultivate wonderfully over the next six years.

_“Oh enough,”_ Sothis calls from the wall a few feet behind her. _“I get you like pairing your students together, but please, spare me your incessant ramblings.”_

_“No promises.”_

Ashe raises his hand, and she nods to him.

“Ah… shall we be using training weapons?”

“Yes, I assume you’ll be able to find those easily enough. Ashe, in your case…”

Training in Archery against a human in a live setting is far different than a still, unmoving target in a training area. Blunted arrows don’t really deal any damage, not in the same way that a wooden sword will still knock you off your feet. If he were going to stand any chance against his partner, he’d need…

“Would you be terribly upset utilizing an axe for this?”

The boy’s eyes widen minutely, as do those of a few others.

“Did I say something weird?”

“How did you know I use an axe?” The boy stated a bit curiously. “I mean, you saw me with a bow earlier, but I haven’t used an axe at all.”

_“Oh… right.”_

_“Dumbass.”_ Sothis laughs at her. _“Whatever, just give the normal excuse.”_

“Your build seemed appropriate for it.” She reasons, and, despite it being an excuse for having knowledge she’d have no way of possessing, it’s not bad. “A bow requires a strong hand to draw the string repeatedly, and a steady hand for holding the bow taught. An axe, generally, is a heavier weapon wielded with two hands, and swung with one. The same general functions apply to both.”

Ashe nods slowly, gradually accepting her excuse as he looks up at her in awe. She doesn’t quite deserve that praise, especially since the only reason said excuse works is that she’s practiced it numerous times. It’s not the first time she’s said something she shouldn’t know and had to bullshit her way out of it.

It probably won’t be the last, either.

“Now then, if that’s all, I’ll ask you go and collect your weapons.”

The group does so at varying speeds. Mercedes and Annette simply converse for a few minutes, content, it seems, to do their normal rolls of spellcasting and healing. She’d tried the girls out in different roles before, wielding axes, spears, bows, and even dark magics (Which’d been one of those lifetimes she decided not to think about), but truthfully, they understood themselves the best. They’d already chosen for themselves what it is they wanted to do.

They’ll have to tone down their powers, well, Annette will, Mercedes combat abilities are rather limited at the start.

The rest filter back in gradually, wielding wooden weapons as they step up to the proverbial plate.

She takes this as a signal to go and grab her own, wanting to allow everyone else the chance to pick a weapon that suits them. She chooses a rather nondescript sword. It’s simply made, probably of some kind of oak. She doesn’t much care about that, though, since it will only be her weapon for all of a few hours.

“Right then. We’ll make this nice and simple. If your knee touches the ground, you’re out. You’ll wait at the edge of the battlefield for everyone else’s bouts to conclude. Any questions or concerns?”

No one says a word.

“Right then,” She speaks. “Let’s begin.”

The groups pair off according to her judgements, and she leaves them be. She sits crisscross on the ground, and closes her eyes, pretending to meditate. In actuality, she turns her attention towards Sothis, who she knows is walking over to her and sitting beside her, yawning into one hand.

_“This part is always boring.”_ The goddess laments.

_“It’s not boring.”_ Byleth refutes. _“They don’t even trust me yet, it’s important we warm them up to that trust, rather than force it on them.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, I know.”_ The goddess sighs, leaning back and laying down upon the stone grounds directly next to Byleth herself. _“Sorry. You know I love them all too, it’s just… gosh they’re time consuming. It feels like I’m raising children, Byleth, but I’ve been stuck on the angsty teenage years for the last six millennia!”_

Byleth herself snorts, and she hears a few of her students turn, presumably towards her. She can imagine that hearing someone you’ve only heard referred to as ‘The Ashen Demon’ quietly snort to themselves as they meditate might come across as a bit… odd.

Still, she ignores them, focusing back in on her dialogue with Sothis, at least until her students are finished. They talk for another couple minutes, until she hears Sylvain hit the dirt, groaning slightly as Felix offers a hand to him, and pulls him up.

“Professor?”

She looks up and is surprised to find that it’s Annette of all people who’s approached her.

“Yes?”

“Uhm, well, I know you want to help train us, but… we’d also like to see a bit of what you’re capable of as well!”

It’s not a terribly surprising revelation. Byleth knows her students well enough to know they want someone strong to follow. Presenting strength, especially in the beginning, isn’t much of a hassle.

Still, she’s forgotten just how headstrong the Blue Lions are. It’s been a while, but each and every one of them, except perhaps Mercedes, is looking at her expectantly. Even the oldest student at Garreg Mach herself is still intrigued, albeit better at hiding said emotion thanks to a few extra years.

“Alright, alright.” She stands, and thanks Sothis that her body, at the very least, is eternally youthful. “I’ve never been the type to turn down the chance to show off.”

_“Yes, trust me,”_ Sothis’ voice drawls on. _“We know.”_

“Well then, Professor.” Felix doesn’t quite spit the words out, but it sounds like he wants to. “If you’re so strong, then who’ll you be facing first?”

She places a hand underneath her chin, pondering for a moment her opponent. It’s not as if it matters, she could take the lot of them on at once and still come out of it victorious, but–

Her eyes widen slightly.

_“…Sothis, I have an idea.”_

_“Ugh.”_ The goddess groans, corporealizing herself and walking over to the wall at the edge of the training ground, where she sits down with an annoyed expression. _“Fine, fine, make yourself look cool.”_

She smirks devilishly.

“How about all of you?” 

\-----

Dimitri pants wildly as he rests at the edge of the training ground. He’s not alone, either. Sitting beside him are six of his classmates, all just as drained as he is.

Their teacher… she is a monster.

A bit humorously, or, at the very least, he could see how one might find humor in the situation, their teacher has left Mercedes for last. She walks towards the woman calmly and places the ‘edge’ of her wooden training sword against the girl’s neck.

“Yield?”

Mercedes simply smiles genially.

“I suppose so, Professor.”

Byleth turns towards the rest of them, regarding them slowly as she steps towards them. She’s analyzing, Dimitri can tell that, at least. But still… her eyes aren’t quite as cold or lifeless as he would’ve expected from someone who’s been a mercenary their entire life.

A moment later, the expression is gone, replaced by one of, oddly enough, kindness.

“Well then.” Their Professor speaks. “Questions? Concerns?”

Dimitri isn’t surprised to see Felix stand immediately, rounding on their teacher with a suspecting expression.

“You… why do you fight like that?”

Byleth raises an eyebrow, clearly confused as to what the boy means. Dimitri takes that as his cue to butt in.

“I think he means that… well…” He tries to think of the easiest way to say this. “You fight a bit… oddly for someone of your stature.”

Once more, Byleth simply looks confused.

“Hm?”

Felix simply groans.

“He means you fight like a man.” Felix speaks without any semblance of propriety, having apparently had enough of his pussyfooting. “Like someone who’s used to having a lot more weight behind their blows.”

At that, their teacher’s eyes widen, and she averts her gaze for a moment. Dimitri doesn’t quite read into that, but he can’t help but think there just might be something there.

“Ah, well, the reason for that is… complicated… I…”

Dimitri has, on occasion, heard myths about mystical creatures altering the bodies of those they come across. They’re fairytales, surely, but, well… is it possible that their Professor–

“I used to be 400 pounds.”

Dimitri looks on with some small degree of shock, before, with a sigh, he exhales the tension that’d been building inside him.

_Well, one piece of good news at least._ Dimitri thinks to himself, turning towards where some of his classmates were already giggling at their expense. _Sylvain and the Professor will get along famously._

Said boy is curled up into a ball on the ground, laughing and pointing at Felix, who’s doing his very best to ignore his childhood friend, with seemingly poor results.

“Grr… Shut up, Sylvain!”

The red-head cackles gutturally, and even Dedue, normally quiet and reserved, can’t help but crack an almost invisible smile.

He doesn’t realize it for another few seconds, but a massive grin has claimed his own visage.

“Seriously, though,” Byleth tries to recover their little training session before it can spiral any further out of control. “If you must know, I was taught by my father, a veritable behemoth of a man. He taught me his style, what worked for him. You can see how that might result in me being slightly underweight.”

The excuse is sound, and Dimitri raises his hands, signaling mock surrender. Truthfully, he’d simply been curious. He doesn’t really suspect the woman of anything.

…Even if her excuse is a little weak.

Sure, it makes sense on paper, but in reality, one learns moves and techniques from their elders that they then transform and mold to create a personalized style. Sure, if Byleth had been a man, perhaps twenty-five pounds heavier, for instance, it would’ve made sense for her to have a very lightly edited version of her father’s style…

But she is a woman, and no novice either. She’d destroyed them utterly.

It truly seemed like, for what he could only assume had been her entire life, Byleth had been using a style that simply hadn’t suited her body. It’s a conundrum Dimitri doesn’t want to ignore entirely, but, ultimately, it’s one he will.

He has no real issue with a simple white lie.

He lives one every day.

\-----

The weeks pass by quickly, but for Byleth, there’s still been work to be done.

First of all, she has to deal with certain… problematic students. The most important of which is Marianne, who, if she doesn’t talk and socialize with, will run off into the forest, and end her own life somewhere during the five-year jump.

She finds the girl in the stables, and they build up a steady rapport as Byleth helps her clean. It’s busywork, but, well, half her lifetimes are busywork, and cleaning up shit from a stable isn’t all that different from chatting up some politicians that won’t stop talking about their illustrious legacies.

She is content, at least, that Marianne waves goodbye to her as she leaves. She spends the rest of the day gardening, chatting with Dedue and mirroring her efforts with the Blue-haired girl earlier that day.

Small talk is most of it, though there are always some larger breakpoints she can reach, and those are when her students truly begin bonding with both her and one another.

She can’t max any of those bonds before the skip in time, well, besides Rhea, who she sees later that week and offers gifts to. They discuss the students, and the overall shape each class is taking as they both work on paperwork. She’s always surprised at just how much attention being the Archbishop requires, and in some of the lifetimes where she’d been entrusted with the job, she’d mostly passed said duties to Seteth while she worked on gathering information for future lifetimes.

Said man had no words of kindness for her, certainly, but at least he hadn't refused.

Sometime in the final week of the month, Byleth heads to the dining hall, looking to eat an early dinner, where she runs into both Ignatz and Raphael.

She sits with the two as they eat the day’s dish, some plate of assorted meats she’s never particularly cared for. Still, talking with the two of them is fun, in a silly sort of way. They’re good friends, even if Ignatz is hiding his guilt for the boy beside him.

It’s not her place to speak up, though, even if it might make it easier. She’d tried that, once, it’d been one of her ‘Change things’ lifetimes. Going around and informing everyone of everyone else’s deepest darkest secrets, their insecurities, their doubts…

Well, it’d been helpful, until everyone had ganged up on Edelgard, sides were chosen, and instead of a continent-wide-war happening a year into Byleth’s tenure, it’d happened only a month in.

She’d sort of learned then to just not worry about it. She could influence supports, choose who interacted with who, but it isn’t really worth it in the end.

It’s better to simply let them sort themselves out.

_“Except when it comes to pairing them off.”_ Sothis glares at her judgmentally. _“God forbid any of your students go around without raising their affinity with one another, especially-”_

_“Enough out of you!”_ Byleth complains. _“It’s one of the only ways I stay sane, Sothis!”_

_“I thought that was fishing.”_

_“It’s fishing, sure, but pairing my students together is a totally different kind of activity.”_

_“Yes. One fraught with drama and angst.”_

_“That’s what makes it fun!”_

Sothis simply groans into her hands, hiding herself as Byleth is brought back into the conversation. Ignatz is discussing his art, and Raphael is asking her if she’s ever tried such a thing. She answers honestly. She has, but it’s been a while.

She’d painted with the boy in front of her, actually, around eight years ago. She’d found him painting and had been invited to try it out. She’d been…

_“The absolute worst!”_ Sothis’ voice sounds thrilled as she brings up that particular blunder. _“I mean, you drew a giant black spot, and said it was supposed to be a bear!”_

Byleth bristles slightly, continuing the rest of her conversation with Ignatz and Raphael, until the two bid her goodbye and exit the lunchroom.

As she’s about to leave the dining hall herself, another figure enters, one who she hadn’t quite expected to see. The new arrival gets their lunch and makes to sit down at a table a few rows away from her own. Byleth interjects, raising her hand and waving the girl over, much to her confusion.

“Professor?” Edelgard’s voice sounds almost suspecting. “What is it you want?”

“Nothing, particularly.” She speaks truthfully. “I just wanted to see how you and the Black Eagles were holding up, nothing major.”

Edelgard nods slowly, acknowledging that, at least.

“Well… Everyone’s been doing fine. Professor Manuela is quite experienced, after all.” Byleth nods, but the girl can’t quite hide a kernel of disappointment in her voice. “Is that all, Professor? I really must finish my food quickly and get back to my studies.”

_“Trying to avoid me, ey?”_ Byleth thinks to herself.

_“She could at least try to be a bit less obvious about it.”_ Sothis chimes in.

“Actually, there was one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

Edelgard looks up from her meal with a small annoyance.

“Are you angry at me for not choosing your house?”

Her students’ eyes widen, and she looks back down at her food, pointedly avoiding her gaze.

The future empress is upset with her, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She’ll get over it, well, at least Byleth thinks she gets over it. Technically, she’s never lived a lifetime where she hasn’t chosen Edelgard’s house, and had the girl be anything but an enemy to her.

So, she doesn’t really know.

Still, the Edelgard in front of her has only known her a few weeks, even if she’s known the girl for millennia. Their connection is shaky, which means she has to put effort into solidifying it. If she truly is planning on shaking up this timeline… this could be as good a place to start as any.

“I’m not…” The girl sighs, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “I am… perturbed. I will admit. I think Claude feels the same, deep down, though he’s always been better at keeping things under wrap than the rest of us.”

She nods at that, letting the girl stall for as long as she wants, until she’s comfortable enough to continue.

“I do not begrudge you any reason you might’ve had for choosing Dimitri over myself. He is… a wonderful person. Hard working, loyal, and honest to a fault.”

The girl’s eyes darken.

“Perhaps a bit too honest. He is a paragon of justice and virtue. I do not doubt that he could look the darkness of the world in its eye and reach out his hand in friendship.”

Her chest flips at the words, a gnarled, twisting thistle winding its way around her heart, but she forces herself to keep a calm visage.

“And yet you still wished for me to take your house.” Byleth nods, forcing emotion out of her tone. “May I ask why?”

At this, she is surprised to find Edelgard laugh, a rare bit of mirth bubbling up in the girl sitting across from her.

“You did save my life.” The girl answers simply. “You got right in the way of that bandit’s axe and cut him down. Even if he got away, your service towards me… it did not go unnoticed.”

The inciting incident for Edelgard’s interest. She had been able to identify it as such long, long ago, but still, she isn’t sure if she’d ever actually confirmed it.

_“You did. Twice, actually.”_ Sothis chimes in. _“Once about… 5600 years ago, and then again another 3000 years after.”_

She hums a thank you to the girl who’s corporealized beside her. Her own brain is human, or, at least, close to human. It’s not quite infinite and unbound like that of a Goddess’. So, generally, Sothis acts as their vault of information, remembering old or weird facts and trivia that can assist them as they go along.

Still, she focuses back in on Edelgard, who seems to have finished her food.

“Well, I’d like you to know you can still come to me with any problems you might be facing, okay?” She asks the girl, even knowing she probably won’t. “My door’s always open.”

Edelgard laughs quietly, shaking her head ever so minutely. Byleth catches it, though only barely. Even still, she doesn’t stop the future empress from rising, taking her tray in both hands, and bowing shortly to Byleth.

“I will… consider taking up your offer, Professor.”

She nods, accepting that.

“That’s all I ask.”

\-----

Their mission comes sooner than she feels it should.

That’s a fairly common thing, however. She’s always surprised by just how short a period a month is.

Still, like always, Kostas’ bandits have set themselves up in Zanado, and it’s up to them to take them out. Well, more accurately, Rhea is testing Byleth to see if she’s really capable. Given that, no matter who she’s chosen, she’s always given the exact same missions. She’s simply chosen to believe that it’s more up to her to take them out, and a few students get brought along for the ride.

She’s also given a few squads of Church soldiers as well, though their usage generally boils down to sitting around on the sidelines, since she and her students really need the experience the battles bring. They hang back, behind the rest of the group, dragging behind them carriages of supplies and equipment.

Their trip to the Red Canyon is quiet and uneventful, her students mostly silent as they contemplate what they will soon have to do. They will have to, with their own hands, take another’s life. That is an almost foregone conclusion.

For some, it is miniscule, Felix and Dedue, while kind in their own ways, have goals and aspirations higher than most. Cutting down bandits means little to them.

Whereas for some, Ashe and Sylvain, the task is far more difficult. Others take to it like fish in water, namely Annette, who shows very little remorse even as she burns her enemies to a crisp.

Byleth’s never quite sure how to deal with things like this. The sweet, kind, and caring Annette, the one who sings songs about eating food and gardening… she kills like it is nothing.

_“People have different sides to them, sometimes ones you can’t predict.”_ Sothis speaks to her, walking alongside her as they hike up the final stretch, their battleground in sight. _“Still, coming here… always throws me off.”_

She nods, looking upon Zanado with her own eyes. Long, long ago, this had been the kingdom of the Nabateans, they who dwelled upon this land in the age of the Goddess. Rhea, Seteth, Flayn, and so many others had called this place their home.

Now, it is nothing but a ruin.

Still, she focuses on the here and now, looking up towards where she can see a bandit scout looking towards their passage. He hasn’t spotted them yet, so Byleth forces her students back, having them hug the wall just out of sight to the man above them.

Unfortunately, she’s left with no real choice.

“Ashe.” She calls quietly to the boy; whose eyes widen as he steps up towards her. “Think you can nail the shot?”

The boy is momentarily stunned, but she watches as he makes himself relax, gulping down the bile that’s likely hanging in his throat. He draws the bow off of his back, and carefully inspects it as he slots an arrow into it.

“I… I can make the shot, Professor!”

The boy overcompensates for his dread with enthusiasm, trying to make himself sound sure. She knows the emotion well, she’s seen it time and time again, and not just from Ashe, either.

“It’s alright.” She reassures him. “Take it slow.

She wishes, deep down, that she could spare them that small pain, that guilt that hangs at the back of their hearts and never disappears. She wishes that, but…

But that wouldn’t be fair. She wouldn’t be allowing them the growth they needed, and no matter what she does, they will still have to survive the five-year jump without her, stuck in a war-torn world with no experience, and no skill.

They’d be torn apart.

Even knowing that doesn’t make it easier to watch Ashe carefully aim at the man above them, watch as his hands shake, as his breaths become heavy, and as he draws back the string.

\-----

_I… I can do this!_

_I have to!_

Ashe forces those words to play on repeat inside his mind, almost like a mantra. And even if he knows it’s true, knows he’s only doing what he has to do for the survival of his house, of his friends…

_This is… horrifying._

The string of his bow stays drawn for five seconds, and by this time, his fingers are aching with pain as they hold back the force. He knows the shot will hit, can tell without really looking. The man before them is nothing more than a sitting duck, standing perfectly still. Even so, Ashe cannot manage to see him as a target he would’ve found in Lonato’s archery range.

A living, breathing human, one who–

His finger slips.

The arrow fires true, and he is helpless to stop it. It flies through the air at an incredible speed, before, without any real fanfare, it sinks itself into the bandits head.

He is lucky, really, that the man dies instantly. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he’d had to watch the man scream out, or grasp at his throat as blood pooled inside it, falling down the cliff and having been left to be finished off.

If it hadn’t been silent.

His body does slide down the cliff, but it falls to the bottom completely slack, obviously dead.

Professor Byleth places a hand on his shoulder, nodding to him even if the expression on her face is just a bit sad, just a bit mournful.

“That was a good shot.” She speaks reassuringly. She turns back towards the others. “We keep moving. We’re maybe half a kilometer from the bridge, which is where I think we’ll be seeing the first large groups. Prepare yourselves.”

They all nod, and file in behind Byleth as she leads the way. Ashe can’t help but find himself idling slightly behind the group as they pass by the new corpse on the side of the road.

He looks down at the man below him and inspects the still-warm body. His eyes are open, but the expression in them is lackadaisical, not at all what he would’ve expected. The man had died so suddenly, so instantly, that Ashe is fairly certain he hadn’t even felt it.

For some odd reason, that only makes him feel worse.

\-----

Honestly, Sylvain’s fairly sure things are going well.

In terms of himself, well, things could be going a lot better, really, but battle-wise, they’re certainly winning.

He’s cut down three bandits now, and he’s not quite sure if everyone and their mother had just been lying to him every time they said it got easier, but he’s fairly certain that it’s actually gotten much harder the more he’s been doing this.

Every single bandit he’s cut down has questions flashing through his mind.

Did these people have families? Friends? Lovers? Who were they, what were their names, just what had driven them to thievery? To attacking students in the middle of a training exercise?

Had it been the price of food, perhaps, driving them to commit more and more crimes to survive? Had they been raised by the streets, given no opportunity’s in life. Or… had it been that their parents had found them worthless when they’d had no crest. Had they kicked them out in favor of their younger brother, did they secretly resent and try to kill them, why did–

He forces his brain to shut off that train of thought, despite how difficult it is.

On every single face here, he sees his brother, he sees Miklan. He’d turned to villainy too, hell, he’d tried to kill Sylvain all those years back. Even still…

He doesn’t want to slaughter the man like an animal, to thrust his spear into the man’s breast and watch the life drain from his eyes. To feel him go limp on the point of his weapon.

He does just that to yet another bandit before him.

He feels sick.

\-----

They’re across the bridge, and for that, Mercedes is grateful.

She’s the oldest here, she keeps reminding herself. She needs to set a good example. She needs to be strong, a pillar of support for those behind her, and an anchor those in front can count on.

She doesn’t really want to do either of those things, but she will, as she’s always done. She’s the group mom, and she knows it. It’s barely even been a month, but she can tell there are some certain… personalities that need controlled.

Namely Sylvain. If she doesn’t watch over him, she’s fairly certain he’ll go get himself into trouble.

Right now, though, as she looks over at the boy, sees the look of absolute disgust on his face, she can’t help but reach her hand out and place it atop his shoulder. It’s not much, just a small show of camaraderie, a tiny reminder; ‘Hey, we’re still here.’

It seems to be appreciated, Sylvain turns towards her, grips onto her hand, and nods. The smile on his face is fake, but at the very least, it seems backed up with some energy he hadn’t possessed a few seconds prior.

She takes pride in that, at least, as she watches Annette burn another bandit to death, hears him cry out as his flesh peels back. A part of her cries out to go save him, to heal him before he meets his end, but she knows there’d be no point.

Even if they brought him back with them, by some miracle managing to save him, he’d only be sentenced to death by Lady Rhea. Even still, up until he’d been set alight, he’d been trying to kill her and her friends, had taken a dangerous swing at Annie that, had it hit, would’ve lodged itself clean into her left breast.

And so, she simply let’s his life be snuffed out. She tries to ignore the way Dimitri raises his lance and cuts the man’s screams short, tries to ignore the potent stench of burning flesh, and the pooling blood…

And tries to ignore how much she wishes it would all simply… stop.

\-----

Dimitri is coping.

The blood on the battlefield cakes his nostrils. It reminds him just a bit of that horrid day when everything had been taken from him. He ignores the urge to slam his foot into a fallen bandits skull.

He’s glad he’s still able to ignore that urge.

He feels pity, really. They feel like a death squadron, here to round up and murder any and all who appear. The bandits are just trying to breathe, and live, and eat, same as the rest of them.

Just as the people of Duscur had only been living their lives. And they too had squadrons, militia’s, and lynching’s sent into towns and cities, burning, pillaging, and murdering any who came into sight.

What makes him different?

Because the people before him had somehow erred? Because they’d done wrong?

It seems so horribly arbitrary to the would-be king. According to the peoples of Faerghus, Duscur had committed a wretched sin, one he himself is almost certain they hadn’t. And yet still, even if they were the guilty party, had the people of Duscur committed such a sin? Had the many families in the countryside, farmers and gardeners and bakers and tailors, had they committed such sin?

He thought not.

Perhaps this group of bandits is guilty in every way, perhaps they are monsters wearing human flesh, committing evil by the bucketload as they traipse throughout the countryside, and yet…

He shakes his head, dodging around a bandits sword, and letting it slam into the mud below. It kicks up some dirt, but unfortunately for the man behind it, his edge strikes nothing else. He cannot turn as Dimitri’s spear juts forward, and the only thing that enters the man’s field of view is the point of his lance, sticking out the front of his body.

_Why?_ Dimitri wonders as the man slides off the metal point, and lands face down in the mud, sinking slightly into it. _Why do we battle at all?_

Yet he knows any ideology is meaningless now. They are at war, like it or not. It is to be a short and bloodless war for their side, at least he hopes so. Their Professor leads the charge, shouting back simple and easy to follow orders as she flays apart the enemy formations.

Still, he finds himself lost in his thoughts, giving a quiet thank you to Ingrid as the girl charges by him, goring a man who’d been about to strike him. He looks towards the front of the formation, where Felix, Annette, and Dedue stand. He thinks of the latter man, one of the last remnants of his people, and feels a sadness in his heart almost equal to the one he’d felt all so long ago.

A wound that still aches.

\-----

Ingrid’s holding up alright, she thinks.

She’s saved both Dimitri and Felix from an untimely demise, for which she’d earned one ‘thank you’ and one annoyed groan (no points on guessing which is which), before she decided to move up into the point formation at the front of the attack.

She’s beside Byleth now, who she can’t help but marvel quietly at, and Annette, who she is, for all intents and purposes, guarding. The young mage is more than capable of fending for herself, but she can see the look in the girl’s eyes.

Annette’s simply not all there at the moment, or, at least, she’s too deep in the outside world right now to really focus on the weight of her actions. She’s hyper focused on the battlefield before her, but that means it’d be easy for a stray arrow to wedge itself into her neck when she isn’t looking, and that gives Ingrid a job to do.

Keep her safe.

_“She’s your fiancé now, Glenn. That means, above all, you keep her safe. You hear me?”_

She hisses at the memory, taking her anger out on a man who’s already been struck by one of Annette’s spells. His face pales just as she shoves a spear through it, and she’s advancing before she can see what she’s done.

She can still remember Rodrigue’s face at that time. He’d been serious, but at the same time, there’d been a teasing expression there as well as he lectured his oldest son. Glenn had smiled through it exasperatedly, but still turned to her and given an earnest look afterwards.

She’d always looked up to him. Perhaps she always would.

She finds herself back to back with Felix, fighting off a few thieves who’ve cornered them. She isn’t especially worried. They’re civilians in all but name, wielding weapons they barely know how to use.

She tries not to let that get to her conscience as she dodges under one’s strike, and lets Felix gut him for all to see. As the others stare shocked, her own weapon is embedded into the stomach of another, before it is pulled out and stabbed in again.

The bandits fall, and she looks back to Felix to give him some sign of support.

He’s already gone, moving forward towards his next opponent.

In some ways, he’s a lot like Glenn. Rash, headstrong, and the first to rush into combat. The differences, really, came from their outlooks. Glenn did all of those things out of a sense of knightly duty, the desire to protect the weak, to uphold chivalry…

Felix does it because he’s impatient.

She holds back a groan as she spurs her legs into action, stepping over one of the corpses she’s just created. Like the knights she so admires…

She has no choice but to soldier on.

\-----

Annette’s pretty sure they’re still fighting.

Honestly, after the first couple dudes, she’d sort of phased out of reality. Having her life flash before her eyes, before she set them alight…

It’d been strangely… exhilarating.

And she’s really not sure what to think about that.

Ingrid had reinforced her at some point, blocking a few blows that might’ve hurt had they hit her. She feels she should maybe thank the woman, but before she can, she and Felix are running off, taking on another group.

She’s alone again, sort of… drifting.

She knows she shouldn’t be this calm about these things, but… well, she’s strong. She’s strong, and it’s good to see it. She can protect Mercie, and Ingrid, and Dimitri, and everyone else. No one will hurt them as long as she’s strong.

She looks back at Mercie herself and fires off a blast of fire at a bandit that’s managed to get past Sylvain. The man crumples as his body is set ablaze, and the spear-wielding-paramour swoops in to finish him off.

She turns back towards her own battle with a smile.

Maybe she’ll feel some of that hurt later, but that’s fine. That’s part of why she’s always sung.

She’ll sing to herself some silly song, and she’ll melt the hurt away.

\-----

Dedue does not focus on those he cuts down, or the occasional wound he’s taken. Instead, he focuses on one, solitary thought.

_This is all for his majesty._

Every bandit he cuts down is a chance for the freedom of the Duscur people, for the rise of the true king of Faerghus, and for the restoration of–

His thoughts are interrupted as a sword nearly takes his head off, but it’s stopped by Professor Byleth, who swoops in and decapitates the man before he can so much as react. She’s gone a second later, a hurricane of ferocity and steel that the enemy has no hope of containing. He has no doubt that even alone, Byleth could’ve rampaged across this camp, making short work of their opponents.

He hazards a guess that’s why she’s their teacher in the first place. She’s strong, truly so. Professor’s Manuela and Hanneman had seemed powerful as well, but…

Professor Byleth is oddly so. She is far and away the strongest fighter he’s ever seen, and that included prodigious talents from the kingdom, knights who’d already had their names carved in legend.

Is she stronger, even, than her father? For if the stories are to be believed, the Blade Breaker is stunningly powerful.

His musings are cut short as he’s forced to bring his axe down upon a bandits skull. He doesn’t relish the way it splits the bone apart, and sends particulates flying in every direction, including a small piece onto his upper lip.

He wipes away the gore and continues to move towards the central platform. The bandit’s leader stands there, waiting.

He does not mind killing, really, when it is in the service of his highness. He is not attached to the activity, but…

Needs must.

\-----

Felix is practically yawning by the time they step up to the central platform and challenge the bandit’s leader.

He looks like weak garbage, the same as the rest of his men.

Their Professor is strong, though, so at the very least, he doesn’t have to feel nearly as horribly embarrassed about their class’ mutual asskicking earlier in the month. She’s taking on swaths of fully grown bandits with just a sword and cutting them down like nothing.

He decides to use that time to fight the bandit leader one-on-one.

“Huh, some fuckin’ kid!?” The man shouts out, looking towards him with a confused expression. “Fine, you wanna’ die, be my guest!”

He says nothing as he parries the first swing, using the time to dodge inside the bandit’s guard and cut upwards. To his surprise, the bandit counters that, managing to backstep outside of his blade’s course.

He readjusts his stance, and watches as the man across from him does the same. Apparently, they’d both underestimated one another.

_So, he’s an actual combatant?_ Felix thinks to himself. _Hmm. It won’t matter. I’m still better._

He steps inside once more, circling the man on the small platform. He’s got roughly two meters to work with, but that still gives him a bit of wiggle room.

His opponent makes the first move, swiping down but feinting with his left hand, throwing a clump of dirt into Felix’s face. He coughs as it hits him, but just manages to avoid getting it caught in his eye.

Unfortunately, the man’s still upon him. He’s backpedaling, avoiding the man’s first two blows with ease.

The third, however, he cannot avoid, seeing as how he’s fallen off of the platform.

He skids down the old stone steps, landing at the bottom and dropping his sword. He curses silently, looking up and seeing his opponent jumping at him, his axe raised behind him.

He panics momentarily, before forcing calm unto himself. He places his foot in the air and, with a surprisingly accurate motion, kicks the man straight in the chest.

It’s barely enough to avoid getting chopped in half, but the man still cuts a chunk into his ankle. He swears, but the wound isn’t anything a good healer wouldn’t be able to fix up in an hour. He makes to stand, but finds his legs feel like jelly.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

“Die, Brat!”

The man’s axe is wound around, and just as Felix is about to try one last gambit, one last trick, the man’s entire upper body is cleaved right off. The force of the strike even sends his hair flying, and he’s left momentarily stunned.

When the upper half of his former opponent slides to the ground, and what remains collapses shortly thereafter, Felix gets his first good look at the person who’d saved him.

It’s their Professor.

“Alright there, Felix?”

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, turning away from the woman.

“I’m fine. That’s the last of them, right?”

“It is indeed.” Their professor reaches down and grabs his injured leg a bit forcefully. “I’ll just… actually, y’know what, Mercedes could use the experience.”

He tilts his head at the implication there. Their teacher is already a strong enough warrior… could she truly heal as well!?

He makes to stand, but as he tries, he finds an arm underneath him, and turns to see Sylvain supporting his body.

His friend looks… horrible.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asks simply.

“No tact, as always.” Sylvain snorts, but he can tell the boy's heart isn't in it. “We just… killed like fifty people. Forgive me for taking a second to process that.”

Felix gives a small hum in response as the man helps him off the battlefield. Still, he’s caught thinking about his friend’s words.

Were the others really so affected? Did they truly care about taking the lives of these filth?

_Hmph. How pathetic._

\-----

Byleth lets out a quick sigh as she gazes around at the battlefield.

_“Only that one divine pulse for Felix.”_ Sothis speaks to her as she appears beside her. _“Not bad. We’ve got more than enough to try that dumb idea of yours.”_

_“It’s not dumb. We’re testing things.”_

_“Not a very good thing, but sure.”_

Byleth sticks her tongue out at her patron Goddess and ignores the small girl’s less than friendly gesture back. She instead turns back to her group, and briefly inspects things.

Mercedes has already patched the wound on Felix’s leg. He’d still bled quite a bit, but they’d have at least another week or two before she’d be pulling them into any practice battles, so there’d still be more than enough time for that to heal.

Everyone else seems to have only taken chip damage at worst, though Dedue does boast some nasty cuts. Luckily, it seemed Mercedes is already aware of him, for he’s sat down next to Felix, likely next on the docket.

“Alright, well done, everyone.” Byleth claps her hands together. “We’re returning to Garreg Mach.”

They all nod, piling themselves into the back of some of the Church soldier’s carriages. They’re a bit small, only two of them to fit all eight, but since they did the majority of the fighting back there, none of the rank and file have any place stopping them from resting in their previous positions.

Instead, it’s now the Church soldier’s who trudge along in front, leading the way back to Garreg Mach.

It’s Dimitri who calls her out first.

“Professor?” He asks a bit curiously. “Aren’t you coming?”

She smiles as she turns back towards the canyon.

“I’ll be right behind you guys, but there’s something I have to check out first.”

It’s Ashe this time who finds fault in her words.

“All alone, Professor? Are you sure you should do something like that? What if there are remnants around?”

“Worried about me, Ashe?” She tilts her head at him, reinforcing the question. “Relax. You’ve seen me fight. I’ll be fine. There’s just something I have to check out, quick and easy, I’ll be back before you know it.”

None of them like it, she can tell, but none of them can really stop her either, so eventually, they relent, going back to sitting normally.

She’s actually a bit surprised, she’d expected more resistance.

“Alright, see you all in a bit. I’ll catch up.”

Practically the moment they round the corner, Byleth becomes unseen.

She’s not actually invisible or anything, but she blends in well enough that she might as well be. The grass’s movements become her own, and the falling rocks nearby become her footfalls, cresting through the Red Canyon with nary a sound.

She’ll need to be this stealthy if what she has in mind is to come to pass.

First of all, she finds a vantage point. It’s not terribly far from where they’d set up, in fact, it’s the exact same spot Ashe had sniped a scout out of earlier in the day. There are a few droplets of dried blood on the rocks beneath her as she takes the spot for herself, but she ignores such miniscule things.

Her eyes are set on a larger prize.

She waits nearly forty minutes before her target shows themselves, and when they do, they’re not alone.

That’s not unexpected though. She knows these two hardly go anywhere without one another.

Almost immediately, the latter of the two hides himself from view, using an actual camouflage spell to disappear into the nearby wilderness. He’s not who she’s worried about, really, so she ignores him. He’ll be on lookout, assuredly, but he won’t notice her until it’s too late.

She scales down the mountain slowly, taking careful, concentrated steps. She knows where to put her feet to avoid the rocks breaking off at a glance, having spent centuries building up oftentimes meaningless skills like rock-climbing without even meaning to.

Occasionally, such techniques had their uses.

She lands in a nearby bush just as a rock hits the ground on the opposite side of the canyon, causing her target to turn away from her. She uses the time to close the distance between them by a few meters before she once more ducks into the underbrush at the first sign of movement.

She’s yet to be spotted.

Just as the figure turns once more, stepping into the clearing and likely surveying for survivors, Byleth moves. She accelerates at her maximum speed, using just a bit of godly magic, which, to be fair, she doesn’t have a lot of, to make her just that tiny bit faster.

By the time her target turns, it’s far too late to escape.

She tackles the armored enigma to the ground, vaulting over them and slamming them into the ground.

“Thought you might return to the scene of the crime.” Byleth smirks as she cracks her knuckles. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mastermind.”

The Flame Emperor is still stunned, having probably not expected to be flipped onto her back, and have the wind knocked out of her.

Byleth charges forwards, knowing that, likely, the nearby assailant still waiting in the trees can’t exactly hurt her if she’s on top of his charge.

She jumps atop the Masked warrior beneath her and grabs the bottom of their helmet. With a strong tug, and a bit of leverage, she wrenches the showy thing off her head, and lets the woman’s white hair spill out across the dirt below her.

This had been her plan. A way to shake up the timeline that she’d never really tried. She’d tried Selling Edelgard out to the Church, she’d tried telling the other Lords of her identity, she’d even tried killing every single member of Those Who Slither in the Dark before the invasion at Garreg Mach.

It hadn’t made a difference in the end.

She honestly doesn’t expect this to do much of anything, either. It’s just another lifetime, just another step towards the ending she hopes will one day come.

What would happen if Byleth, and only Byleth, knew of Edelgard’s identity before her grand reveal?

“W-what!?” She pretends to be surprised, as if she can’t believe the person below her could be behind this. “Edelgard!?”

Her prey averts her gaze. Clicking her teeth together, Edelgard says nothing as she lays silently.

“So… you’re the mastermind of this? You hired a camp of bandits to attack your own friends, you were working with them… for what?”

She makes it clear to the girl below her. She makes it clear that she knows what she’s done up til’ now, and that there’s no getting away.

Despite that, Edelgard still tries.

“I did no such thing, Professor, I was only-”

“Then why come here in a mask, Edelgard?” She questions, pretending like she doesn’t know Hubert’s is just waiting for his chance to rescue his lady from this predicament. She’s watching the forest out of the corner of her eye, waiting to dodge the spell she knows will come. “Why would you have any reason to show up here, then? I have a guess. You came to kill any stragglers, to erase any possibility of your name escaping, or at least, the name of this alias you’ve taken, correct?”

Edelgard says nothing, using the silence, probably, as a means to think.

What Byleth doesn’t expect is a noise of absolute shock from off to her left.

She turns towards it, and finds a similar expression taking over her own face. Edelgard below her is much the same, except her own face is red and hot, the shame of having been found out by not one, but two of her fellows at Garreg Mach apparently too much for her.

_“So.”_ Sothis speaks from inside her head. _“Guess we’re changing things more than we meant to.”_

_“Yeah…”_ Byleth answers the girl.

“Professor… Edelgard…” Dimitri speaks as he draws the spear from behind his back.

_“Looks like it.”_

“Just what the hell is going on here!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It probably won't be as long as a month either" I say, as this story takes a month to update.
> 
> My bad on that! Should be looking at much shorter release schedules now, for real! Anyways, getting more into the meat of the story. Hope to see you all back whenever the next chapter releases! I'm thinking... Two weeks, probably? I hope?
> 
> See you all then!


	3. For Your Sake

Byleth isn’t really sure where to begin.

She knows this can’t look good. Not for either of them. Dimitri has caught the both of them with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar.

 _“Just Pulse.”_ Sothis whispers in her ear. _“We can try again without Dimitri-”_

She tunes the goddess out. There’s a look in the young king’s eyes that she’s never seen before. It is neither hatred nor trust. Neither anger nor joy. It is… not quite suspicion either.

But whatever it is, the look is aimed directly at Edelgard.

Because of course it is. Despite knowing Byleth a month, he’d spent a year of his life, probably one of his best, with the girl she had straddled beneath her.

But still, he hasn’t attacked. He’s almost… waiting, if Byleth has to guess.

She feels a bit of pressure in the middle of her stomach, and before she can right herself, Edelgard’s foot kicks her backwards a good foot or so. It’s not much, but it’s enough to startle her, and that’s all Edelgard needs to separate them, rolling away and managing to put a few feet of distance between them, taking a combat stance.

_“Shit… I was careless.”_

_“You got too distracted.”_ Sothis yawns. _“Look, it’s fine, Edelgard will warp away with Hubert, so just rewind and we ca-”_

The empress holds her hand out to the woods just beyond as Dimitri walks forward, a far more intense look on his features.

“Stay there!” The girl screams, and it takes Byleth a moment to realize why she’s said such a thing.

Hubert’s identity… at this point, she doesn’t want to oust him. Working in Garreg Mach… it is still their best way to gain access to Rhea, to the church’s innerworkings and crest stones…

To their endgame.

Of course, she won’t call on Hubert immediately. She’s still trying to find a way out of this situation on her own. But it’s not like she can teleport on her own, either, nor with two opponents directly in front of her who could stop her at a moment’s notice.

For now, at least, she’s stuck with them.

“Professor.” It’s Dimitri who speaks up first, and there’s no room for nonsense in his voice. “What is going on here? Please.”

She nods to show she hears him but can’t risk taking her eyes off of Edelgard. The woman is maintaining the distance between them, a good three or four feet, as they match one another’s steps, but if she’s allowed any more than that, it’s likely she’ll be able to warp away.

The look on Edelgard’s face is… not pleading, but hopeless. It’s like she expects to be sold out immediately. For good reason, as well. With the information she possesses, or, well, has reason to possess, Edelgard is a madwoman, who’d ordered a hit on her own classmates.

Anyone would’ve sold the girl out. Truthfully, Byleth herself had done so numerous times.

“I found Edelgard wandering around.” Byleth lies as stoically as she can and tries to ignore the look of shock on Edelgard’s face. “I mistook her for an enemy. I think she was sent here by Rhea to alert of us something that had changed with-”

“Professor.” The boy cuts her off. Even with that, she doesn’t dare turn to look at him, she can’t risk Edelgard escaping–

The boy is right in front of her, forming an odd triangle with the three of them at its points.

“Ms. Byleth, Edelgard, both of you. Please.” The boy speaks up, an earnest expression of… something adorning his features. “Just… tell me what this is about. I can’t make a judgement call if I don’t know what I’m judging.”

Byleth hisses slightly at the boy’s words. It’s not his fault. If anything, it’s very clearly theirs. This situation…

It is immensely difficult to explain.

Edelgard takes a step back, praying on her inattentiveness, and she just barely gets in range to stop the girl from teleporting away, slamming her back down onto the dirt.

“What the-!” Dimitri shouts, seeming completely lost. “Would somebody just be honest with me for half a second!?”

She wants to speak, but Edelgard’s squirming rather uncomfortably in her arms, and–

And another pair has gripped onto her own and hauled her off the girl below her.

Dimitri is strong. He’s crazily strong, in fact, easily strong enough to crush the wooden handle of a spear in his hand as he used it in battle, or the skull of a man as he held him aloft. She’d forgotten that fact, underestimated him.

Edelgard makes to stand, but Dimitri won’t allow it. He has an iron sword pointed at Byleth, and his personal spear pointed at his old friend’s face.

“Tell me…” The boy pants slightly. “What’s going on. I trust the both of you, but clearly that’s not a feeling the two of you share with one another, so would someone mind informing me why!?”

She almost finds a smile on her face, hearing the usually calm and collected Dimitri screech out in annoyance.

Almost.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, and looks up at the future king. His expression is still the same as it had been a few minutes prior, and she still has no idea how to read it, despite the wealth of time she’s spent with him.

This exact scenario… it has never happened before.

A bit of a rarity when one had lived six thousand years. One ran into repeated moments far more often than they did new ones. Sure, little pieces and parts would be different ever time, but…

“Edelgard…” She cuts herself out of her train of thought, resolving to simply follow along with the current scenario. Worst case, she’d just rewind. No sense in not trying. “She’s the one who hired the bandits. The one who sold your training location out and tried to have you all killed.”

Dimitri’s eyes widen considerably, and his expression shifts and morphs as he turns to look at Edelgard below him.

“Is this true?”

Edelgard’s visage remains the same. The girl has always been good at disguising her emotions, even if cracks occasionally show through.

“And if it is?”

Dimitri recoils back at his friend’s words, as if struck by a metaphorical axe. He recovers without much deliberating, looking at Edelgard with eyebrows drawn down in a small show of melancholy.

“Then you’d be turned over to the church for attempted murder! You’d be tried, and-” He attempts to remain calm, but his voice cracks near the end, his veneer falling away. “El– Edelgard, what the hell are you-”

Dimitri lowers the spear in his left hand for nary a moment, allowing Edelgard a hint of breathing room. Byleth knows without even thinking that it’s enough for the miniature empress. She kicks off on the dirt below her and vaults, even in her heavy armor. In that exact moment, she begins to cast her teleportation.

“Wait, Edelgard-”

Dimitri sounds concerned for the young woman, but truthfully, she knows the blue king’s words aren’t enough. They’ve never been enough.

Only she can save them.

“Don’t run away!”

It’s her own voice that causes Edelgard to falter. It’s not much, just a small shake in her hand, but Byleth catches it.

“We won’t inform Rhea, so come back to the Monastery! You don’t have to run away!”

It’s not entirely the truth, but her lies are indistinguishable from truths at this point.

The teleportation spell has been done for a long while now, but the girl is still standing in their little canyon, looking down at the ground below.

But it’s Dimitri who moves forward. He takes a single step, drops the sword he’s been pointing at Byleth, and awkwardly holds his hand out.

“El… Please. Trust us.” His voice is faltering. “At least talk to us. It doesn’t have to be now, but… why don’t we all talk in Professor Byleth’s room, tonight?”

_“Rude of him to invite himself in.”_

_“Not the time, Sothis.”_

_“Bleh.”_

Byleth searches Edelgard’s expression, sees the look in the girl’s eyes, and knows for a fact that there’s not a chance in hell she’ll even consider it. She’s half tempted to cut Dimitri off, to save him the time–

“Or… If you just want to speak to Professor Byleth, that’s fine too. Just…” Dimitri’s words echo out along the canyon, and he sheathes his spear once more along his back. “Never mind. Professor, we should be getting back to the others.”

She’s briefly stunned by her student’s words, reeling slightly as Edelgard seems to mirror her feelings.

But she can’t help the small smile on her face.

She’d forgotten, really, that her students are some of the most remarkable people she’s ever met. Constantly changing and evolving, constantly growing, and improving. Even six thousand years after she’d met them for the first time…

They still find ways to surprise her.

“Alright. I suppose you’re correct.”

“What are you two plotting?”

She inclines her head slightly, just enough to see Edelgard out of the corner of her eye.

“Nothing. We’re not plotting anything.” Dimitri speaks. “At least… I’m not. Just call this… a show of good faith.”

Byleth nods silently, following along behind the leader of the blue lions house.

“Please… come talk with us. If you still won’t… then…”

Byleth turns back around, wanting to see how Edelgard will react.

She is already gone.

She lets out a tired sigh as she looks up at Dimitri. The boy’s almost a head taller than her, and that’s before he grows even more so during the five-year jump. He lets out a similar sigh to her own, and she finds a question on the tip of her tongue.

“Why let her go?”

She’s been wanting to ask him questions this entire time, and really, if she’d wanted to waste all of her divine pulses on menial information, she’d consider it. Still, there’s no telling what events might come up in the future, and divine pulses have a nasty habit of running out when she needs them.

So, she’ll settle with asking after the fact, starting with what she thinks of as the most important.

“I… I don’t know, really.” Dimitri admits as she matches his step, following along behind him as they retreat from Zanado. “Even if… it was the proper thing to do… I don’t want El… Edelgard to have to die. Even if she did try and kill us… such a thing simply wouldn’t sit right with me.”

She makes a small noise of acknowledgement as they settle into their long trip back.

/-/

Byleth’s honestly not sure why she’s bothering to stick around in her room when evening comes.

She knows for a fact that there’s no way Edelgard’s going to be waiting around for her, not after she basically had her entire identity exposed so early on. Not just to her, either, but to Dimitri as well.

If it had just been Byleth, perhaps there would’ve been a chance, but…

She sighs, laying down on her bed and looking to her right, where Sothis is propping her head up with her elbow on Byleth’s desk.

“So… when do we call it?”

“And rewind to the end of the battle?” She asks. “We’ll do it a bit early… 1 o’clock.”

“We beat those bandits at four. We could honestly wait til’ three and still be safe.”

Byleth shoots the girl a small, amused scowl.

“Do you honestly think it’s worth wasting an extra two hours on a pipe dream at that point?”

“No,” Sothis admits with a small yawn. “But what’re two hours to the two of us?”

Byleth pauses.

“A minor annoyance I’d rather avoid?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

The night wanes onwards, and Byleth finds herself sighing as another hour ticks by. It’s eleven now, and she figures that if Edelgard had been planning on dropping by, she’d have done so by now.

She sits up in her bed and leans against the headboard at the back as Sothis walks over and sits down in front of her. The goddess lazes as well, falling on the mattress and kicking up some dust. Aside from a few flying particulates, however, there’s no evidence someone is laying in the spot at all.

“Not even Dimitri dropped by.” Byleth speaks, pantomiming depression. “My students hate me!”

“Well, some of them actually do.”

“Oi.”

Sothis giggles into her hand, and Byleth smiles at the sight, even if she is being a bit annoying.

“Daily reminder-”

“At this point, I do it for your sake, so you know how I feel.”

Sothis gives her a rather unflattering gesture in response.

“Seriously though, rewind?”

“I suppose so.” Sothis sighs out as she crawls over to her, a small blush on the girl’s features. “But… well…”

She tilts her head slightly as Sothis crawls up into her lap.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a few hours… to ourselves, is there?”

Now it’s her turn to blush. The goddess in her lap doesn’t quite phase through her, barely able to hold herself up on Byleth’s stomach. The pressure is akin to a feather ghosting across her skin, but she can feel it.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Sothis’ face somehow grows even redder, resembling a small cherry tomato that Dedue might grow in the gardens. She leans forward and touches the side of Byleth’s face, and a memory plays through her brain.

_‘Byleth’s no stranger to… romance, but she’s certainly not used to Sothis showing affection… especially as unashamedly as she has just now.’_

She looks up into Sothis’ eyes and finds herself briefly lost in the soft green moonlight reflected within them.

“You were right.” Her partner looks away, embarrassed. “It seemed like every time we were doing anything together; it was you starting it. Well…”

She’s trying to change that.

The thought makes Byleth smile gently, and she reaches up and takes Sothis’ hand, still on her cheek. The contact is airy, almost undetectable.

She relishes in it, nonetheless.

She’s engrossed in the feeling, briefly blinded by it. Pulling the girl closer to her and letting their lips connect, however hazily the contact is. She sees nothing other than her partner before her, except for maybe the door at the back of the room opening up, and who is that figure stepping into their space, oh, it’s Dimitri–

She screams as she breaks the sort-of-kiss she’d been having with her patron goddess. Sothis immediately disappears, letting out a small yelp as she does.

Dimitri looks… horrendously confused.

She can see why. From his perspective, she’d been tenderly grasping the air, running her hands through the air’s luscious locks, and blushing as she gently kissed it.

She coughs.

Dimitri does nothing.

She coughs again, slightly more forcefully.

“OH!” Dimitri shouts, apparently remembering he’s supposed to speak, move, do anything. “Uhm, I showed up like we spoke of earlier, Professor.”

She puts her head in her hands and lets out a small groan.

 _“Why did he have to show up… then!?”_ Byleth finds herself complaining. _“Couldn’t have been any other time!?”_

 _“Listen, just…”_ Sothis’ voice chimes in, though the girl still remains invisible, despite Dimitri not being able to see her. _“Shoo him away or something. We’re sort of having a moment here.”_

_“What, the moods not dead?”_

_“Oh, it’s dead, but I’ll use a damned pulse to bring it back if I have to.”_

“So, Dimitri.” She begins, wanting this to be over as quickly as possible, and feeling just the smallest amount of guilt for that. “…Seen Edelgard today?”

“No… not quite.” The boy says awkwardly, pointedly avoiding eye contact with her. “I hoped she’d be here already.”

“Same here.”

There’s another pause that seems to stretch on longer than Byleth’s many millennia.

“S-So!” The boy tries to steer the conversation. “I’m terribly sorry about entering without knocking earlier! I just… well, I assumed she’d be here, so…” The boy cuts off, laughing a bit sheepishly as he tries to somehow recover. “W-what was it you were doing earlier? When I entered the room, I mean.”

“Ask that again, and I’ll show you why they call me the Ashen Demon.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A tiny shock runs through her as she feels a presence on the edge of her perception. Dimitri seems to feel it too. A set of small, almost inaudible footfalls echoes out from just outside her door, and they’re growing louder by the minute.

And then, almost casually, an oddly polite knock sounds out from her doorway.

She swallows the last bits of doubt clinging to her and calls out.

“Come in.”

Edelgard steps into the space without a word. She looks… horrible, actually. Her face is pale, likely from a combination of fear and stress. Her hands are shaking as well, and Byleth can tell she must’ve had to drag herself here through will alone.

“Professor.” The girl speaks, the teeniest bit of nervous energy clogging her speech. “I… I’ve come as you asked.”

She nods, recovering as best she can. Sothis reappears at her side, apparently having recovered from their earlier… interruption.

_“So… what’s the plan?”_

_“Don’t actually have one.”_

_“What!?”_ Her partner rounds on her. _“But you’re the one who told her to come here!”_

_“That was Dimitri! I only very vaguely volunteered!”_

_“Oh, right.”_

“Professor?” The girl asks once more.

“Right, sorry.” She stops mentally conversing with Sothis and turns towards the other two people in her room. “Thanks for coming. Both of you.”

The both of them nod, and Byleth notes the positions each of them has taken. Dimitri has decided to lean against the back wall, his weapon placed on the floor below him, in as clear a display of faith as he can make. Edelgard, on the other hand, stands just in front of the door, with her weapon slung along her back. Not only is she prepared to run, but she’s prepared to fight if she needs to.

Yet even still, Byleth can’t help but note the way the girl’s legs are positioned. She’s facing Dimitri, funnily enough. Whether or not that’s a sign of belief… or of a harsh doubt…

She can’t quite be sure.

“So… Edelgard.” It’s Dimitri who speaks first. His voice is apprehensive, but firm. He’s trying to be careful, but he’s not shying away either. “Professor Byleth said you hired those bandits to attack us… why?”

It’s as good a start as any, Byleth thinks, as she sits forward. Their interviewee seems to be doing her best to come up with a way to dodge the question, her already white face paling a bit further.

“I… I can’t tell you that.”

Byleth almost nods but realizes that’d look rather weird. It’s the answer she’d been expecting.

“Why?” Dimitri pushes further.

Byleth’s about to tell him to stop this line of questioning, to let the girl go here, before Edelgard responds.

“I just can’t.” She turns to Byleth, shooting a small, pleading look. “I… It’s not…”

“It’s fine, Dimitri.” She proposes, turning to the boy. “Let’s drop that.”

The boy seems to want to protest, and she can easily see why, but he nods along, apparently acceding to her in this.

She’s unsure of where to go from here, though. Obviously, Edelgard’s holding back because of her relations with Those Who Slither. She won’t reveal them, or else she’d be putting her own life, and the lives of all those who served her at risk. More importantly than any of those, though…

She’d be putting her dream at risk.

But that doesn’t mean Byleth can’t steer the conversation there herself. Foresight in the form of lives once lived had a habit of coming in handy.

“I… It was a mistake for me to come here.” Edelgard backs away slowly, her hand inching towards her weapon, even as Dimitri makes to push himself off the wall, to stop her. “Thank you anyways, Professor, but I-”

And she’s awfully good at pretending.

“The group playing the world from the shadows.” She speaks, cutting any and all movement in the room like a flame being snuffed out. “I know of their existence.”

Edelgard stiffens instantly, as does Dimitri. For the former, it’s a reminder of her sins, of the things she’s done, of the group she both despises and needs. For the latter, however…

“The group who… what!?” Dimitri’s head turns on a swivel, looking to the both of them for any semblance of guidance. “Professor, what are you talking about?”

Edelgard looks back at her out of the corner of her eye, building anxiety in her pupils that can’t help but unnerve Byleth. She knows for a fact that even if Edelgard likes someone, values someone, she won’t hesitate to cut them down if it’s for her goals.

“…How?” Edelgard’s voice is quiet, almost silent. “How did you figure out about them? Professor, who the hell are you?”

She has to hide her smile, but Sothis has no such issues.

“No one important.” She answers. “A woman with a bit of a chip on their shoulder. Let’s just say I’ve run into them in the past.”

Edelgard goes quiet, apparently ruminating on the information she’s just supplied her with. It’s not much, a vague hint that they’ve run into each other before, but if she digs into said rumor, she’ll find nothing.

She’s never met them in this lifetime, after all.

It’s also not specific enough for Edelgard to call her on her bullshit, either. Clearly, if she had information on Those Who Slither, she’d have had to run into them.

That leaves time for Dimitri to get a word in edgewise, as well.

“Wait… A shadowy organization?” The young king looks confused. “What are you two talking about? Professor?”

He turns to her, and she sighs out. She doesn’t think she’s ever told the boy about Those Who Slither this early on, at least not without it resulting in his untimely demise.

 _“Which has, let me remind you, occurred more than a few times.”_ Sothis chimes in rather unhelpfully. _“Just… be careful.”_

She lets out a small hum of acknowledgement, inaudible to anyone else in the room.

“A group consisting of a bunch of shady characters. They’ve planted their roots just about everywhere in Fódlan, including the Empire, the Alliance, and even the Kingdom itself.”

Dimitri’s eyes widen, and he leans forward slightly, clearly even more invested than he’d been a few seconds ago.

“Do you know of any agents in the Kingdom!?”

“Not off the top of my head, no.” She lies. “Sorry, but I don’t know any of them personally.”

She can tell him about Cornelia, about those loyal to her, but it won’t matter. At the end of the day, Byleth knows the woman and her compatriots quite well, which means keeping her in power until she can deal with her and her ilk is the best solution. If she outs her now, she’ll be forced into hiding, maybe even killed, but she’d simply be replaced by someone else, perhaps even someone Byleth knew nothing about.

And so, she tells Dimitri nothing.

She tries to ignore the way Edelgard’s shoulders relax slightly in relief. A relief that could’ve been for her, or for Those Who Slither. After all, if she’d known them, it’s likely Edelgard would’ve had to report back to her superiors. A report that, to her, at least, would spell Byleth’s death.

But it could’ve also been a breath for her goals, which are, at the moment, un-assailed.

“All I really know is that they’re plotting something.” She lies once more. She’d long since figured out their plan. “What exactly it is… I don’t know. What I do know… is that people who investigate them normally don’t last very long.”

She turns to Edelgard, her eyebrows turning up in a worry that is not entirely fabricated.

“You’re… involved with them somehow, aren’t you?”

The young woman averts her gaze, looking anywhere else in the room but at her. Unfortunately, this brings her into eye-contact with Dimitri, who is apparently no better. The boy shoots her a look that leaves her looking pitiful and guilty, and Byleth can’t help but think, quietly, that she might have had that one coming.

“I’m not going to report you, Edelgard.” Byleth informs the girl. “Even if you disappear tonight, I won’t tell Rhea why.”

Edelgard, despite the reaction she expects, laughs darkly.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” The young woman explains, turning towards her with eyes a bit sad. “You might not, at least, but can you truly say that for everyone here?”

“I…”

She turns to look at Dimitri, and finds him avoiding eye-contact, looking down at the floor below.

_“Ah… right.”_

Dimitri would turn her in. With the information he’d received tonight, it would be enough for him to go to Rhea if she disappeared. He’d seen enough horrible things in his life, gone through too many tragedies. He would do anything to avoid another, even sell out Edelgard.

“I’ll stick around.” The girl says under her breath. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Byleth says nothing as the woman makes for the door, but luckily for her, Dimitri is once again faster on the draw.

“Edelgard… no… El.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, and the empress he’s addressing shakes slightly at his words, and her hand stops turning on the door’s handle. “Whatever it is that’s going on… whatever you’re wrapped up in…” The man takes a deep breath, exhaling with what sounds like a sigh. “I believe in you. I always have. Ever since…”

His voice cuts off, but Byleth knows of what he speaks. The exchanging of a dagger on the last day they’d seen one another. The very same dagger she’d seen pierce through Dimitri’s shoulder time and time again.

There’s a palpable silence that lasts a few seconds, and just when she’s sure Edelgard will excuse herself, provide them with nothing concrete, the girl opens her mouth.

“Lord Lonato… and the Western Church.”

Byleth’s eyes widen, and she looks up to see that the young woman has turned away from them both, looking into the corner of the room. She almost seems to have regretted saying even that, yet at the same time, the shaking in her hands has stopped.

“What of them?” Dimitri asks, pushing himself off the wall.

“I… I cannot say anymore. I shouldn’t have even…”

The girl lets out a terrified sigh, her breath shaking as it exits her mouth.

“Edelgard… thank you.” Byleth speaks, an honest to goddess smile on her face. “I’ll look into it. Rest assured, no one will know it came from you.”

She has more than a few ways to circumvent telling Rhea where her ‘information’ comes from, especially since she’d already known it. She’ll use her normal excuse, and no one will have to be the wiser.

“I…” The woman seems to want to say something more, but instead, she simply nods, and pulls open the door. “Professor… Dimitri… I suppose I’ll see you all later.”

Edelgard leaves without another word.

Byleth’s left alone with Dimitri, turning towards him as he walks over and stands in the spot Edelgard had been occupying.

“Professor… what… what should I do?”

“I’m not terribly sure myself.” She answers honestly. “But… have faith in her. I think that’s the best thing you can do if it’s Edelgard you’re worried about.”

“It seems more like the only thing I can do, Professor.” Dimitri lets out a tired sigh as he makes for the door. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just…”

“Stressed and exhausted?” She laughs. “Believe me, I understand.”

Despite the atmosphere, Dimitri gives a tiny smile.

“Alright, I’ll be leaving. Thank you Professor.”

“Not a problem. Have a good night, Dimitri.”

Byleth lets out an exasperated groan as she falls back on her bed. She sinks into it just a bit as Sothis materializes in front of her.

“So…” The goddess speaks after a long wait. “What do we do now?”

“Regarding her?” Byleth almost feels the need to laugh.

“I have no idea.”

\-----

Outside of Byleth’s room, a figure stands in the shadows.

He’d listened in on the woman’s conversation with her two students, had heard of Edelgard’s supposed connection to a mysterious, shadowy group, and had learned of the Professor’s intention to let the woman walk free, if she so desired.

He watches as Edelgard exits the room first, looking around and seeing if anyone is tailing her. She must feel him, subtly, but she narrowly misses spotting him. She retreats to her section of the building, the upper floors where many of the noble elites sleep.

Dimitri exits a few minutes afterwards, though the look on his face tells the onlooker that he is anything but sure of his actions. He is clearly contemplative, but he too misses spotting the figure in the darkness.

It’s quite a while later when the light is switched off in Byleth’s room, and the figure sees that as the time to retreat to his own quarters, his little spying job fulfilled.

Still, he has to wonder just what he’s going to do now. The Professor hasn’t betrayed them, at least, not entirely, but her motivations are… complicated, to say the least. Just what could she see in Edelgard that would lead her to have such a blind faith in the woman?

He sighs as he makes his way up a flight of stairs, arriving at the upper levels of the dormitories. He’s about to pass by the wannabe empress’ room when a voice calls out to him.

“You?”

He turns. Standing there in the doorway is Edelgard, looking awfully pale.

“Oh? Hey Edelgard. What’s up?”

“Nothing…” The woman lies in a conspicuously terrible way. He imagines that’s the influence of her conversation with Dimitri and the Professor. “Why were you wandering around the monastery?”

He smiles, having already come up with more than a good enough excuse for that very question.

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

The woman’s eyes widen, but he steps in before she can begin to suspect him of anything.

“I mean, you went missing this afternoon. Most everyone just wrote it off as the you getting some free time, but after you missed your afternoon lessons, the teachers told me to give you this.”

He hands her a simple sheet of homework. It’s one he’d been given by Manuela, for the actual purpose he’d stated. Well, he’d had to specifically ask to receive it over a member of the girl’s own class, but no one had called him out over that.

“I…” The girl let’s out a tired sigh, seemingly releasing her built up stress. “Thank you. I appreciate you going to such an effort for my sake.”

“Hey, no problem. If I might ask though, why the disappearing act?”

The girl hesitates for a moment, as clear a sign of guilt as any in his eyes, before she looks up at him and smiles genially.

“Just getting a bit of free time in, like you said. I haven’t had much opportunity for relaxation.”

“Ah, yeah, I getcha’.” He wraps up the conversation. “Alright, I’m beat. Gonna’ go get some shut eye. Take care of yourself, Edelgard.”

The girl smiles, unsuspecting of a single thing.

“Yes, I’ll do just that.” She walks back into her room, but as he passes by it, and moves towards his own, she doesn’t miss the chance to let out one final farewell.

“Goodnight, Claude.”

\-----

The Harpstring Moon passes them by, and the Garland Moon takes its place.

For Byleth, the different Moons, and the meanings behind them, have faded into the background over the course of the many years she’s spent at war, or preparing for it.

Still, each has its own meaning for her.

The Great Tree Moon and Harpstring Moon’s mark a beginning. Her lifetimes have, for better or for worse, always begun there. Every time she’s died and been sent back, she’s ended up at the beginning of the first Moon, ready to do it all over. It is a season of choice, and of freedom.

The Garland Moon, in stark contrast to the previous two, is almost entirely rigid when it comes to taking it on.

That is due, in large part, to Lonato.

The man isn’t particularly hard to deal with, but the main problem is that he doesn't leave much in the way of flexibility. She’d figured out a solution to dealing with him a few thousand years back, and stuck with it. 

The first part to said solution is what she’s currently up to.

She passes into the faculty floor of the Monastery, and crosses through a few winding halls, until she arrives at her father’s room. She knocks twice and hears a small rumbling from inside the chamber.

She waits patiently for the man to open the door. When he finally does so, it’s with a yawn, and an annoyed look at her.

“You do realize today is my off-day, correct?” Jeralt glares at her. “I’d rather not be up at six.”

“I’ll only be a second.” She assures him as Sothis laughs from behind her. “I just need you to help me with something.”

The man’s eyes go from groggy to attentive in half a second, and once more, she thanks the universe for her father being a battle-hardened warrior, ready to go to war at a moment’s notice.

“Fine, fine.” He speaks, ushering her into his room.

“What do you need?”

\-----

Ashe stands motionless in front of their Professor, too stunned to even acknowledge the multiple faces in the room that have turned towards him, or the worried expressions upon them.

He takes a single step forward, and tries to speak, to articulate any words he can…

But nothing comes, instead, he feels his breaths quickening, he feels his body shaking, and his heartbeat begin to speed up…

It’s Mercedes who gets to him first, casting a small healing spell over his heart as she whispers soothing words into his ear. Sylvain is second, helping her carry him over to the medical wing, but even still, the panic within him doesn’t fade.

Lonato… Lonato has been sentenced to death by the church.

Their teacher had been almost brutal in her admittance of that truth. She had told them straight out that at the end of the month, a mere week away, they would be sent out to annihilate Lord Lonato’s uprising.

He finds bile rising in his throat and tries desperately to force it down.

He fails.

Mercedes is a real trooper, though, not shying away from caring for him even when he ruins her dress. He has to imagine it isn’t a pleasant feeling, either, to work with vomit all over you.

He feels his admiration for her skyrocket as he loses consciousness.

\-----

If anything, come the day of their marching orders, Ashe feels less prepared than he’d been the week before.

Once more, his stomach aches horribly, and no amount of consolation from Dimitri, Sylvain, and Mercedes is enough to keep him steady. He could barely remember, when he’d been a child living in the slums, trying to make enough money for his siblings, having to turn his knife on a rabid dog that’d come for their supplies.

The guilt that had overwhelmed him as he’d watched it die… he feels that same emotion now, only far, far worse.

To turn his blade on the town that had practically raised him, on the Lord who’d been like a father to him…

If he’d been a stronger man, he would’ve protested this to Rhea. If he’d been braver… stronger… maybe then he could’ve–

“We’re here.”

Their escorts voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and he can only look up at her a bit aimlessly, noting the oddly shaped sword on her back.

 _Thunderstrike Cassandra…_ His eyes haze over, and a terrible pain echoes at the back of his mind. _If she’s here… then…_

He doesn’t want to think it, even if he knows the truth. If such a powerful warrior has been sent here, then the church truly is taking this seriously…

Lonato doesn’t stand a chance against the full might of the Church’s armies, even if he’d managed to muster up one of his own, as the reports had said.

He notices the mist first, though, really, he’s fairly sure it would’ve been hard to miss. It engulfs them what feels like instantly, and their field of view is reduced in mere moments.

“Careful.” Byleth speaks, stepping in front of both Catherine and their class. “Be on guard, but don’t just strike at anything that moves either. Never know what you’ll run into in the dense fog.”

The Professor’s words sound like they come from personal experience, so Ashe takes them to heart. He takes his bow off of his back, and ignores the sickness building within him as he slots an arrow onto the string.

He knows almost every soldier here. He knows practically every member of the town. He’d spoken personally with many of them, talked about their hopes and dreams, had confided in them when things were rough…

Is he truly expected to shoot them down?

“We’ve got company!” Catherine shouts suddenly, pointing her blade at a soldier charging out of the mist. “All units-”

“Hold!”

It’s the Professor who shouted, cutting off Catherine’s voice with nary a second thought. The woman bristles slightly, but Byleth ignores her as she steps forward, and towards the charging figure.

Her assailant is poised to strike her in her breast, and for a moment, Ashe is half-tempted to shout the woman’s name, but in the moment between him having that thought, and opening his mouth, Byleth has already brought her hand along the shaft of his spear and snapped it in twain, before charging up the remaining length and kicking the man on the other end in the chest, sending him spiraling to the ground, groaning quietly.

“That’s no soldier.” She speaks simply, walking forward and investigating the man. “He’s…”

Ashe’s eyes widen, and a kernel of pure, raw disgust fills his body.

“Jeremiah!?” He calls to the man on the ground. “Jeremiah, is that you!?”

The man on the ground looks up at him with a shaky expression, not quite believing what he’s seeing.

“A-Ashe!?”

The young man makes to stand, but is stopped by Catherine, who steps in front of him and raises her sword.

“W-wait, I-”

Ashe lets out a scream, preparing to shoot the arrow he’d notched into his bow not at the ‘enemy’ below them, but at Catherine. But before he can make so desperate a maneuver, however, their Professor has already acted.

Byleth’s steel blade meets Catherine’s Thunderbrand, stopping it in its tracks and rooting the swordswoman in place.

“What the hell,” The Thunderstrike growls out. “Are you doing!?”

“Did you not hear them?” Byleth speaks, seemingly unphased by the other woman’s strength. “Ashe knew this man. If I’m to bet,” She looks towards him, even during the middle of battle. “He’s about as far from a soldier as you can get, right?”

Ashe finds himself nodding fervently, unable to contain himself. The man below them was just a simple farmer, one of the many who helped make food for their village. He’d personally visited the man’s farm more than once, on runs to get vegetables, meats, or other delicacies.

He communicates this to the two clashing and gets a scoff in response from Catherine.

“It doesn’t matter what he once was, he’s raised his blade against the church!”

Catherine pushes Byleth away, trying to gain some ground, but it’s their Professor who once more locks their blades together, before winding underneath her opponent, and sending her flying backwards with a kick.

“Ashe, everyone.” Byleth calls to them all. “I have a sneaking suspicion that the people here are almost all civilians. You’re facing a militia.”

Ashe’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and he turns to see the rest of their group with similar expressions. The palest of them all is Dimitri, who looks just like Ashe, as if he’s been asked to do something impossible.

“Think about what it is _you_ want to do. Don’t just follow the Church’s orders!”

Byleth charges forward, ducking underneath one of Catherine’s strikes.

“I’ll keep this one busy and try to keep the bloodshed over here to a minimum.” Catherine sneers at that but is still unable to break their Professor’s guard. “In the meantime, go forward, and do what you can!”

Their teacher turns towards Ashe, looking to him alone.

“Oh, and… Ashe? Remind Lonato that he’s still got something worth living for, okay?”

He nods, almost in a daze, and for some inexplicable reason, the rest of the group is nodding along with him.

He looks down at Jeremiah and tells him to run back into the forest, back towards the rest of Lonato’s men, and he agrees without complaint. The last thing he sees of the man is his back as it disappears into the fog.

He’s not really sure why, but Dimitri leads their charge into the mist.

They all follow.

The first person they run into is one of the soldiers from their town, an actual soldier, who’d been a part of the local protection force. He hadn’t known this one, but Ashe didn’t even have to call out not to harm him, his classmates were already on it.

Dimitri, with a smile on his face and confidence in his chest, had pushed his way into the man’s guard, seemingly mimicking Byleth’s earlier technique for dealing with spearmen. He disarmed the man and knocked him to the floor.

“We should find the one creating all this fog in the first place!” It’s Annette who shouts that. “I can tell it’s artificial! Get me close enough to silence them!”

Once more, their group agrees, converging around the young sorceress and pushing further into the misty trees.

Their progress is slow going, because at the end of the day, whether or not they want to be hurting the people around them doesn’t really affect how they’re going to be treated. The militia members who charge at them still do so with the intent to kill, at least, normally, until they see him. At that point, the vast majority listen to him and disarm, heading back towards Lonato without their weapons.

He imagines having the future king beside him helps a bit with negotiations as well.

Still, it’s not like they have forever. Their teacher is skilled, apparently just as skilled as Thunderstrike Cassandra, a bet he’d have never made a week ago, but that doesn’t mean she can hold her there indefinitely.

They need to find Lonato and stop this foolish war before it can truly begin.

It’s not long before Annette lets out a sudden noise, apparently meaning that she’s feeling a much higher concentration of magic nearby.

Their mage is close, and it takes only a few more minutes to find him, huddled behind a tree, and with a spell in hand.

“You!?” He shouts to none of them in particular, and Ashe can say quite certainly that he has no idea who this man is. “I won’t let you get to Lord Lonato!”

But they’re faster, and before the man’s spell can cast, they’re upon him. It’s Felix who gets there first, sighing as he uses the butt of his sword on the man’s back, forcing him down, before Annette claps her hands together, and sends out a spell of silence.

It coils around the mage like a serpent, before sinking its ‘fangs’ into him. The man goes limp, and the fog around them dissipates almost instantaneously.

Ashe gets his first look at the man he’s both needed and dreaded to see.

Lonato is sitting proudly on horseback, donned with heavy armor that looks so foreign on him. Ashe knows he is a lord, and had once been a warrior of the realm, but even still…

He cannot help but think seeing his adoptive father in armor is so terribly wrong.

The man doesn’t recognize him from this distance, though that’s not a terrible surprise, he’s a good seventy feet away, and Ashe likes to think his eyesight is rather good thanks in large part to wielding a bow as a weapon.

It’s not until the rest of his classmates have passed him by that Ashe realizes he’s afraid.

The fear hits him hard and fast, almost doubling him over if not for his bow, which he used to keep himself aloft. His breaths came out shallow and forced, and he knows without really knowing why that another panic attack will soon hit him.

_No… I have to… have to…_

_“Oh, and… Ashe?”_ He hears Byleth’s voice echo out in his head. _“Remind Lonato that he’s still got something worth living for, okay?”_

He stomps his foot on the ground, letting out an aching yell that startles the rest of his group in front of him.

He refuses to be dead weight. Not now. Not when the man who saved him is right in front of him, and he’s the only one who can save him in return.

He owes him that much.

He forces the panic back, stepping forward and taking deep, rasping breaths. He feels warmer all of a sudden and turns to his left to see Mercedes funneling magic into him. He gives the woman an honest nod, filled to the brim with gratitude.

She gives him a calming smile in return.

“I…” His voice sounds so terribly unsure, not at all how he’d wanted it to. He tries again. “I will stop Lonato! Please, hold everyone else here!”

Dimitri walks towards him and places a hand on his shoulder. The contact grounds him, letting him truly get a breath for the first time in about a minute.

“Go.” Dimitri smiles at him. “Save your people.”

\-----

The others are performing admirably, and that means Ashe has been given more than enough space to work with.

The members of their town don’t bother stopping him. They know him both by name and face, and some go so far as to wave at him, despite the circumstances. He can’t help but want to return the gesture, but his body just won’t.

It feels like nary a moment has passed, and yet he is now standing in front of Lonato.

“Ashe.” The man addresses him in an overwhelmingly simple manner. “Stand down. This is no place for you.”

He says nothing at first, merely looking the man in the eye. Perhaps it’s foolish, but he feels the need to measure the man’s conviction, to see the true feelings behind his adoptive father’s eyes.

There’s hate there. A hate burning so fiercely and bright that Ashe is nearly blinded by it, nearly consumed by it, drawn into arguing about petty things and ruining his single chance to save Lonato.

He steadies himself, ridding himself of that pettiness, and speaks.

“This… is about Cristophe, isn’t it?”

There’s a minute widening of Lonato’s eyes, and Ashe knows he’s correct. It’d been something he’d been ruminating over for the past week or so, something he’d had to come to terms with.

Lonato… he had been planning this, or something like it, for quite some time.

“Do not try and stop me, Ashe.” The man speaks, and he has to pull down the fear in his chest from overwhelming him. “Rhea is an infidel; her deceit stretches farther and deeper than you could ever know!”

Maybe that’s true, but Ashe isn’t sure if he cares at all about Rhea at the moment.

“And you’d drag everyone… the townspeople, the farmers, gardeners, tailors, maids and butlers into this?”

Lonato briefly hesitates, before, with a small flourish, he draws his spear from off of his back, and points it at Ashe.

“Enough, Ashe! If you will not stand down, then I will be forced to put an end to this myself!”

He feels as if the words should root him in place. He feels as if they should destroy his heart, trample upon it and ruin it forever. Somehow, someway, they only serve to amplify his feelings. He will not let Lonato walk down that path. He refuses to.

He holds out his bow to his left side, and watches as everyone on the battlefield tenses. They must suspect him of giving up on Lonato, think the two will soon come to blows. He grabs his quiver from off of his back and holds that out in his right hand as well.

And, with a single motion, he throws both at Lonato. They skitter to a stop just in front of the man’s horse, causing the beast to give off a small whinny. Lonato’s expression is filled with naught but shock.

“Then you’d best make it quick.” Ashe speaks with a bravery he’s never known before. “Because I’m afraid I have no intention of fighting back…”

He looks up at his father, dead in the eye.

“Or of giving up.”

Lonato is stunned. Ashe can tell that much at least. The man sits motionless for quite some time, his spear still outstretched towards Ashe.

But the weapon is wobbling, held in shaky hands.

And then, without any fanfare or ceremony, Lonato’s weapon drops.

“I… I will not strike you down, Ashe.” The man speaks, and Ashe can hear the regret that he’d even considered it etched into his voice. “But that does not mean we can simply give up on our goal. Rhea has tainted this land, tainted its people-”

“And all of that may be true!” Ashe shouts, and the people around them all take steps back. “But do you honestly believe a collection of regular people… a militia can stand against her!?”

Lonato’s mouth opens, presumably to retort, but he shuts it a moment later, having said nothing at all.

“I will not allow you, or anyone else to throw your lives away for nothing!” He realizes that fervor has snuck its way into his tone, but at the moment, he doesn’t much care. “I will stand against all of you if need be. Not for the church, and not for Rhea.”

He takes a step forward, and for once, he feels truly, absolutely confident in both himself and his words.

“I’ll do it to save every single one of you!”

The speech seems to explode out of him at the end, and he watches as several of the townsfolk turned militia take a step back from him.

Him, a small, spindly sixteen-year-old.

Even his own friends, who’d been harmlessly fighting off the militia’s troops, have frozen, standing still, and looking towards him with what almost looked like awe.

“Ashe… you…” Lonato looks downright flabbergasted, before, with a pained laugh, he looks up towards the sky. “When did the steel of your conviction… grow so strong and polished?”

After a moment of silent consideration, Lonato lets out an aching sigh. He turns to his left, where a few soldiers holding signal horns in their hands are standing. They seem to be awaiting his order.

“Horns men!” Lonato shouts to them, before looking back to Ashe, and smiling softly. “Relay this order to all corners of the battlefield…”

“We surrender.”

\-----

Catherine’s blade is once more knocked away from one of Lonato’s militia before it can land a clean blow, allowing the young woman to scream and run away, back towards their main force. She’s yet to take down a single member of Lonato’s army, and from what she’s seen of her soldiers, the same goes for all of them.

She hisses as the veritable storm before her kicks up into her guard and punches her straight in the teeth.

She’s forced backwards, and as a few more of her troopers try and attack the woman they’ve been dealing with for the past half hour, a certain dread fills her as she watches them be flung aside, groaning as they hit the ground.

She charges in once more, matching Thunderbrand against the woman’s simple steel. Before she can even begin considering her next few moves, a small clump of sand is thrown directly into her face.

She sputters and coughs, unable to block the butt of the woman’s sword as it strikes her in the abdomen, keeling her over and causing her to hack even more.

Rage overcomes her, and she shoots upwards, but her strikes are wide, too wide for them to not be countered almost instantly by her opponent. Small little nicks adorn her arms, and there are a multitude of scratches in her armor that she already knows will cost her quite a bit to get repaired.

Another of her soldiers lands beside her, and this time, as she’s knocked down to join the man, Catherine takes her time in standing up.

“This is treason, you know.” She speaks to the Professor before her, who does a small stretch as she continues to speak. “When we return, I’ll report this to Lady Rhea!”

“You’re welcome to.” Byleth fires back at her, spinning her sword in her hand as she keeps herself warmed up. “But I think you’ll end up being a bit disappointed with the result. I’m just trying to accomplish our mission, same as you.”

“What!?” Catherine feels a righteous anger fill her once more. “You’ve been fighting us this entire time; the enemy forces have probably annihilated your students! You’ve sent them off to die on their own!”

No sooner has she spoken those words than she hears the sound of a horn ring out across the battlefield. It cuts off their battle, and though she knows it’s meaning, knows what the call of that horn means, she can’t quite fathom or believe how such a thing has happened.

“There.” The new Professor turns to her and smiles cockily. “See? Mission accomplished. Your little uprising has been put down, and not a soul has lost their life.”

Catherine finds herself wanting to argue. She finds herself wanting to rip this woman’s throat out as well, and yet… she stays her hand. She lets out a deep, worldly growl, letting the rage of the day’s events flow out of her before she looks up at the new Professor once more.

“I will be speaking to Lady Rhea about this.”

Byleth, to her credit, simply nods.

“Once again, you’re welcome to.”

\-----

Ashe is fairly sure he’s not supposed to be in the monastery’s main chamber at the moment, but Byleth had shepherded him in, and no one had really asked any questions past that.

He’s not the only odd person around, though. The Professor is here, sure, but Catherine is as well, standing beside her and looking none-too-enthused about it. Seteth stands at the back of the room, along with a few guards, likely there for the Archbishop’s protection.

But the one that surprises him the most is the Blade Breaker himself, Jeralt. He’s not had the chance to speak with the man, though he knows a few of his classmates have actually gone and sought his council, namely Felix, concerning sword forms (which had improved Felix’s abilities almost overnight) and Sylvain, on how to woo his daughter (A joke that the man had taken rather poorly).

“Thank you both for your reports.” Lady Rhea addresses both Catherine and Byleth, as the two finish giving their accounts of the battle, if one wanted to call the bloodless posturing such a thing. “I will assess them more thoroughly once we have dealt with our current predicament.”

Ashe is also fairly certain the ‘current predicament’ is his adoptive father Lonato, who is currently kneeling in front of Rhea, a horrid scowl on his face as he’s held in place by two guards.

“Lord Lonato.” She speaks to the man, descending the steps with a calculated grace, each footfall accentuating her words. “You stand accused of leading a rebellion against the church, of rallying a militia in an attempt to destroy us. What say you in your defense.”

His adoptive father takes a moment to weigh his words, looking not up at Rhea, but at the floor below.

 _Please… please Goddess._ He finds himself praying absentmindedly. _Save him… Give him the words he needs!_

Just as Lonato goes to open his mouth, another voice interrupts him.

“Actually, there’s no need for that.”

All heads in the room turn towards the Professor, who wears a very sure-of-herself expression as she steps towards Lonato.

“And why would that be, Professor?” Rhea addresses her almost whimsically, like she’s enjoying hearing the woman speak.

“Because I believe that Lord Lonato is not the true villain of this plot.”

Ashe’s eyes are not the only set to widen slightly at the woman’s claim, though most of all, he notices, is Lonato himself.

“I have learned of another conspiracy, one for which this event was only a distraction.” Their professor speaks almost boisterously, and he can’t help but imagine her as one of the heroes he’d read about in his stories. “A plot to assassinate you, Lady Rhea.”

That statement sets the room ablaze. Multiple voices begin shouting at once, each calling out for answers that Byleth seems unable to provide, given that she’s talked over just about every time she tries. Through it all, Rhea maintains a neutral expression, seeming almost amused by the current happenings around her.

“Enough!” Seteth raises his voice, stepping away from the throne at the back of the chamber. “You will explain yourself at once, Professor.”

Byleth nods, before beginning to talk.

“This came to my attention from an anonymous source.” Byleth begins, and Ashe can already see quite a few people at odds with that statement alone. “But I received a note earlier in the month. It was quite simple. It merely stated ‘Lord Lonato’, ‘Western Church’ and ‘Assassination Plot’.”

“You…” Lonato mutters from his spot on the floor. “How did you learn of that!?”

“I dug a little deeper on my own and found some rather interesting information. The Western Church, too, is plotting an attack, but not alone. There’s another group, playing them from the shadows.”

That seems to catch the attention of Jeralt, Seteth, and Rhea. The latter of which, even, has stopped smiling, now caught in the woman’s words.

“I know nothing of this group’s identity, nor, really, anything past what I’ve just uttered, but whoever they are, they’re manipulating events behind the scenes. I believe they’ve coerced the Western Church to act for them, under some promise of power, and then the Western Church coerced Lonato, promising revenge for his son.”

That particular comment has not only Ashe, but Lonato as well gazing down at the floor. He looks up briefly, and sees that Catherine is also staring a hole in the tile beneath them. Her eyes look as if they’re gazing into the depths of hell itself.

“So… if I am not mistaken, you claim that Lord Lonato was…” Seteth begins, eyes narrow. “‘Coerced’ into drafting up a militia, and threatening the Church?”

Byleth nods.

“Yet he still committed that sin.” Rhea speaks, stepping towards Lonato once more, her expression bleak. “Coerced or not, he must be tried for his crime.”

Ashe thinks for but a moment that this is it, that Lonato will be killed right then and there in front of him, but once more, the Professor swoops in.

“But I believe Lonato has learned the error of his ways.” She begins with a small, honest smile. “After all, Ashe spoke with him, got him to disarm his troops and come here all of his own volition. He came here to atone for his crimes, not be martyred by them.”

“All you’d be doing by killing Lonato here would be showing that he was right.” Byleth explains to Rhea, and Ashe sees just the smallest flash of recognition in the woman’s eyes. “You’d enflame them, incite further incidents. Besides,” His teacher waves her hand in the air, as if dispelling the negative notion. “The only crime he is guilty of is conspiring to attack the church. His forces were unsuccessful in damaging anyone or anything.”

Byleth steps forward again, and Ashe finds a tiny feeling of hope residing in his chest as the woman walks in front of Rhea, now imploring her.

“I would personally ask you spare him.”

Rhea seems taken aback by that, but before she can sit and mull that over, another figure calls out.

“I would as well.” Jeralt of all people speaks up. “We’ve worked with Lord Lonato in the past. He was never anything but upstanding, in both conduct and demeanor.”

Rhea seems to want to say something contrarily, but she can’t seem to muster up anything. Instead she lets out a single, longer breath, which, from what Ashe knows about the woman, is probably about as close as she’s ever come to groaning.

“Very well, Professor, Jeralt. I have heard your claims.” The woman turns, instead, to him. “Ashe.”

He gulps as he’s addressed by the Archbishop.

“Do you believe that Lord Lonato has, as your Professor claims, learned the error of his ways?”

He forces down the nervousness in his throat, and nods vehemently.

“I… I do, Archbishop!”

“Hmm.” The woman regards his words for only a moment, before turning to his adoptive father. “And you, Lonato. Have you given up your planned revenge?”

“I…” Uncertainty hangs in the man’s voice, and for just a moment, Ashe thinks he may regress back, and damn himself.

And then, with a small sigh, relinquishing whatever demons had hung over him, Lonato looks up.

“I have.”

Rhea nods, before standing back up, and walking back to the center of the room.

“Very well. I have heeded your council.” She looks towards Byleth and shoots the woman an awfully exasperated smile. “And though some of you have given me more to think on than others, I have made my decision.”

Ashe finds himself tense.

“Lonato.” She addresses the man. “For your crime of conspiring to attack the Church, you will serve a month in the dungeons of Garreg Mach. After which, you will be released. You and your people will also pay an additional percentage in taxes to the church this upcoming year.”

Ashe lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding, falling to his knees in abject relief as the soldiers around Lonato allow the man to stand.

“I…” The man himself looks no different to Ashe. Clearly, he had expected to face a far more severe punishment. “Very well.”

Ashe looks up, trying to catch the Professor’s attention, but before he can manage, Rhea has already moved on.

“Catherine, escort him to the dungeons. As for the rest of you, I would ask anyone who isn’t Professor Byleth, Jeralt, or Seteth to leave this chamber for the time being. There is much to be discussed.”

Ashe, along with the rest of the menial guards present for protection, filters out when Rhea tells him to. He has an idea on where he’s going, however. He finds himself running to catch up to the two figures who’d left ahead of time.

“Lonato!”

Both Catherine and Lonato turn back towards him. The latter is obviously happier to see him that the former, though it’s not as if the warrior of the church is disgusted with his presence.

“Ashe, right?”

He nods at the woman’s inquiry, even if he’d really only wanted to speak with Lonato.

“He is my adoptive son.” Lonato explains, though it’s hard to miss the way Catherine’s eyes dart away from his at the comment. “He has grown far braver in the short time he’s been away, as well.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ashe blushes as Catherine nods at Lonato’s words. “Still, to think you of all people would try and attack the church. I’ve gotta’ be honest, I didn’t suspect that of you.”

Ashe finds his breath caught in his throat as the expression on Lonato’s face shifts, from one of calm acceptance to indignant rage.

“And I imagine my son didn’t expect you to have him murdered in cold blood.” The man’s voice affects even Ashe, practically sending him to his knees. “But I suppose we’re all full of surprises, aren’t we?”

Catherine says nothing as she leads them down to through the winding pathways and into the cold stone of the dungeons. Even as they arrive at what he presumes is Lonato’s cell, she’s still yet to say a single thing, remaining almost entirely silent.

It is only when she shuts Lonato inside his prison, turning the key and locking it, that she opens her mouth.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me. Goddess knows I don’t deserve it, but…” The woman sighs, and she meets Lonato’s eyes for the first time in what feels like hours. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Ashe can tell that there’s more there Catherine wants to say, guilt hanging from the tip of her tongue. She wants to unleash it, to let it be free, but at the same time, she thinks that would be… unfair, or unreciprocated. Ashe can’t help but feel just the tiniest bit sorry for her.

Still, Lonato’s eyes are wide as he contemplates the woman’s words, taking more than a few seconds to walk to the end of the room, and sit down upon his cot.

And then, a tiny, almost invisible smile ghosts across the man’s lips.

“I find myself rather glad as well.” He looks over at Ashe, and he once more finds embarrassment flooding his chest. “Thank you again, my son.”

And it’s Ashe’s turn to look away, staring at the floor as a small smile comes to his face.

“It’s… not just me who you have to thank.” He shakes his head, looking back up. “It’s every member of my class as well, they helped me get close to you, and… and Professor Byleth as well.”

Catherine stiffens slightly at the mention of her nemesis’ name, but otherwise stays quiet.

“Hmph.” Lonato breaths out a laugh. “I’ll be sure to give them my thanks when I am released. For now, I would ask to be left alone. I am… exhausted from today’s events.”

Ashe isn’t sure if that’s the entire truth or not, but he nods anyways, as does Catherine.

“I’ll visit as often as I can.”

“I appreciate it, Ashe.”

For some reason, he’s following Catherine as they travel back outside.

“So… you’re following me.”

“Er…” He may’ve grown braver, but that doesn’t mean he’s particularly comfortable being called out. “Y-yes. I had a question I wanted to ask you.”

Catherine nods, silently giving him permission.

“You… attended Garreg Mach alongside Christophe, didn’t you?”

Catherine’s walking slows noticeably, and Ashe has to drop his own pace to not pass her by. She’s like that for quite a while, drifting what feels like aimlessly.

“I did. We were classmates in the Blue Lions together. We were…” Her eyes glaze over slightly, and Ashe can see the massive regret that hangs over her. “Good friends.”

Ashe nods, content to not push the woman any further. Lonato might hate Catherine, but Ashe can’t manage to find the emotion in himself for the woman.

“You remind me of him, just a bit.”

He’s shocked as he turns towards her, pointing a finger at his own breast.

“M-me!?”

Catherine smiles a bit sadly.

“You’ve got the same hair. Well, color-wise, his was straight like Lonato’s. He was quite a bit taller than you as well. But…” She sighs out. “Your spirits. Those are the same. Braver than anyone else around you… and far too kind.”

He almost feels the need to question the woman’s words there, but he doesn’t. Honestly, he feels much the same as Lonato. He’s exhausted. He’d been dealing with things for the entire day, and the day is only now cresting evening, the sun just beginning to set in the auburn sky.

Instead, a single question pours out of him before he can stop it.

“If you could go back… would you do it again? Turn him in?”

He can’t see Catherine’s face, but he’s surprised when the woman’s answer comes almost immediately.

“No.” She speaks, and he can hear the intense melancholy in the woman’s voice.

“I wouldn’t.”

\-----

It’s a while later that Ashe finally breaks off from Catherine, having had an… oddly fulfilling conversation with the woman.

He runs into Dimitri, and thanks the future king for his help today. He takes it all with a smile, saying that Ashe had done most of it, but he simply refuses to take no for an answer, bowing deeply for him, despite the sheepishness with which Dimitri receives said praise.

He wants to rest, needs to rest, really. Still, there’s someone he needs to see, someone who takes precedence right now.

It’s been three hours, so he imagines that if they haven’t already been let out of their meeting, then they soon will be.

What he’s not expecting, however, is to find his Professor talking with her father, just outside of Rhea’s main chamber

_What are they…?_

Despite not really knowing why, he ducks behind a nearby pillar. The two are highly experienced, and it’s likely they would’ve been able to catch anyone else by now. But, well…

Ashe had been a thief far longer than a noble.

“-suppose you’ve accomplished your little mission.” Jeralt’s voice is the first one he’s able to pick up on, and though he doesn’t feel good about the eavesdropping…

He can’t deny he’s just the least bit curious. There’s been something hanging over him for the past few hours, something he’d heard back in the Archbishop’s chamber that he’d been nearly certain was wrong.

“Yes. Thanks for the help, father.”

“Don’t mention it.” The man pauses. “Can’t say I feel terribly good about lying to Lady Rhea’s face, though, even if it is for a good cause.”

Ashe’s eyes widen.

“I won’t ask you to do it again, don’t worry.”

“Well, if you needed me to, I suppose I could.”

His professor laughs.

“Appreciated, father.”

“Alright, I’m going to try and enjoy my off day now, well, what’s left of it, anyways.”

“Eh… Dinner’s on me one of these days.”

“How about one of these weeks?”

“Don’t push your luck, old man.”

Jeralt barks out a laugh as his footfalls grow quieter.

Ashe takes that as his cue.

He steps out from behind the pillar and jogs lightly towards Byleth, who seems to be walking back towards the main compound.

“Professor!”

The woman turns at his call, smiling as she sees him.

“Ah, how are you doing, Ashe.”

He pants as he makes it to her, the exhaustion of the day really hitting him hard now that his body realizes it doesn’t have to be so obscenely tense anymore.

“Professor…” His breaths come out sounding horridly raspy, but he forces himself to stand tall. “I… I wanted to… thank you for helping me save Lonato.” An earnest smile comes to his face, one which his Professor returns. “But also… I had a question.”

Byleth tilts her head to the side somewhat, a silent ‘go on’.

“I… Earlier, Jeralt said to Lady Rhea that you guys had worked for Lord Lonato before.”

The woman before him nods.

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Despite the shock he’d been expecting, Byleth’s face instead morphs into one of amusement.

“Hmm… well, it’s a sound theory. Do you have any evidence to back it up?”

Ashe’s face contorts. This isn’t exactly the response he’s anticipated.

“Well… I’d never seen you come by, and I’d never heard of Jeralt or his band until very recently, when Dimitri was coming back from his mission, and told us all about you.”

Byleth nods.

“So… I figured you were lying.” Ashe takes a breath. “I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but-”

“You don’t have to worry, Ashe.” His Professor pats him on the shoulder. “I don’t take offense. Besides, you’re right. We did make that up.”

His hypothesis confirmed, he has only one question left.

“Lonato… did you know Lonato had helped to plot that attack on Rhea?”

It’s a question that’s been running through his head the entire day. Lonato hadn’t told him outright, but he’d seen the look on the man’s face when Byleth had mentioned the assassination plot. He hadn’t looked appalled, like one might’ve normally.

He’d looked ousted, his plan ruined.

“Yes.” Byleth answers, as if admitting such a thing is the easiest thing in the world. “I knew.”

Ashe finds himself brimming with emotions at the woman’s casual air, and grinds his teeth together as he rounds on her.

“Then… why? Lying to the Archbishop herself about something of that nature… that is a serious offense, considered only second to lying to the Goddess herself! You… you could’ve gotten in a horrible amount of trouble.”

Byleth waits for him to continue. He lets his gaze wander down to the tile below them, idly noting some of the dirt and scratches upon it.

“Why… why would you do that?”

He doesn’t see her approach, but he hears the clacking of her boots as they echo across the empty room. When she finally reaches him, she places both of her hands on his shoulders, almost forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Are you kidding?” She asks him with a twinkle of mirth in her eye. “I did it because he was your father.”

Maybe it’s just the day he’s had, but the woman’s words have some strange effect on him. He finds his eyes widening, finds them filling with tears, and finds his strength leaving him. He collapses into Byleth and finds a sob wrack his form.

He can’t manage to say anything, the words aren’t leaving his body. There’re a million little things he wants to say to her, but instead, he settles on something rather simple.

“Thank you.” He whispers into her shoulder, and, because he feels it bears repeating, “Thank you… thank you…”

A strong pair of arms wraps around him and pulls him in close. Perhaps it’s embarrassing to cry in front of one’s teacher, literally into her shoulder, as he’s doing, but Ashe can’t find the will to care. Byleth had saved Lonato’s life, he felt she’d earned seeing him just a tad bit vulnerable.

“No need to thank me.” The woman reassures him, squeezing just a bit harder as she lets him go. “Just doing my job.”

And Ashe decides, then and there, that he won’t read into any of his Professor’s odd behaviors.

He’s not going to worry about the fact that she’s somehow able to duel legends like Catherine and take on legions of soldiers at the same time. He’s not going to ask why Edelgard’s gaze constantly lingers upon her, and why the same can sometimes be said for her. He’s not going to ask what Dimitri went to her room for a month back, or what they might’ve discussed that had left their future king so out of it.

He’s not even going to ask why it seems the woman’s eyes aren’t even looking at him, but instead, through him, past him. Her gaze lingers on something far off on the horizon, something no one can see but her.

But whatever that is… He won’t bother the woman by asking.

She’d earned that much from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh... I was a day off on my Two Week schedule. My chapter was done yesterday, but I didn't think it was right to upload at three in the morning.
> 
> Anyways, focusing in a little more on the Edelgard/Byleth/Dimitri trifecta at the beginning, and our Hero gets spied on not once, but twice. If it isn't clear, that should probably lead you to believe she's a bit less omnipotent than she might've first seemed. And Byleth seems to think that "Only she can save them". Well, we'll certainly see about that.
> 
> Next chapter will be a little further off. Think... three or four weeks? I have another fic I work on as well, and I was taking a month off from it, which let me get this one out much faster. Still, I've finished my outline for Welcome Back, so I can say with fair certainty that it will be around 17 chapters in length, give or take one or two in either direction.
> 
> Oh, and there might be some mistakes regarding Months/Moons around halfway through. If you find any, I can correct them!
> 
> Alright, that's all from me. I'll see you guys next time!


	4. Go Flying By

“And so, as you can see, flanking from multiple angles can be a battle-winning maneuver, but only if utilized carefully.” Byleth lectures on, pointing with a small stick towards where she’s sketched (admittedly rather poorly) some battle formations. “If not, you run the risk of having one of your smaller forces overwhelmed by the enemies full might. Sure, you’ve got a good position, but I’m sure you realize that’s not going to save you when you’re hopelessly outmanned.”

A few of her students, mostly her short-ranged fighters, jot things down. The others don’t seem to see any point in it, and while she can’t really fault them for that, there’s a vindictive part of her that promises it’s going to make sure this information is relevant sometime soon.

“Even for those of you who don’t think you need this kind of advice,” She gives those few students a pointed glare, and watches as they refuse to meet her eyes. “I think you’ll find battle tactics in a pinch to be useful to have. You never know when you might be left in charge of a company, and even for a force as small as a battalion, these techniques could come in handy.”

Ashe is the only longer-range fighter paying rapt attention. He’s been doing that ever since she’d saved Lonato, who would, at the end of the month, be released from his cell.

 _“Not exactly a surprise.”_ Sothis yawns out from Byleth’s desk, which she’s taken to resting on top of. _“He’s always like this.”_

She nods at the girl’s words as she continues on about tactics. Ashe is rather self-explanatory. He doesn’t trust Byleth much at first, a remnant of his days as a thief, but the moment she manages to save Lonato, she has his implicit faith. That faith never runs dry, either. Hell, she can still milk favors out of him five years from now if she wants.

Her plan regarding Lonato is something she’d set into stone long ago. It’d been a trial and error sort of thing, her executing upon different methods, different outcomes, until at last she’d saved him. Since then, she’d buffed up her plan to the point where instead of being imprisoned for the rest of his life, he’ll only be in a cell for a month. That’s thanks in large part to her father backing her up and she herself calling in a sort of personal favor with Rhea.

Those two things combine for an awful lot of points with the Archbishop.

She can see such a thing being unimportant to some, ‘why bother saving one man when one had the world to worry about?’, but really, her existence had always, and would always be for the sake of saving others, not the world.

She can save the world without even trying, albeit at the cost of some of her students’ lives.

All she wants is to keep the people she loves alive and happy, and if she can make sure Ashe’s father doesn’t die without it getting in the way of that… then why wouldn’t she do it?

She phases back into reality as Sylvain raises a hand. With the small snickers coming out of his mouth that he’s trying desperately to hide, she’s fairly sure this isn’t going to be an academically challenging question. She sighs as she calls on him.

“Excuse me, Byleth.”

The way he uses her name has her hiding a smile. She’s pretty sure she knows how this is going to go.

“Yes, Sylvain?”

“I merely wanted to ask if you’d come with me into the nearby village for a drink this Saturday.” The young man cocks an eyebrow at her. “Just the two of us.”

Several sighs adorn her own as she leans back against the black board behind her. She feigns thinking about it, but really, she’s using the time to think up a way to turn him down.

And maybe not so kindly embarrass him in the process. Educationally, of course.

“Sylvain, I’m sorry, but… you’re like a bratty, sort of annoying son to me.” She finishes, placing a hand over her heart in mock apology. “I just couldn’t see us together.”

She relishes in the way Ingrid lets out a rasping, hacking laugh as she leans on Sylvain. The boy in question tries his best to ignore her, to what seems to be mixed results. He’s apparently decided to ignore his other classmates as well, who are laughing only a bit less obviously at him.

“Y’hear that Ingrid?” Sylvain turns to the girl who’s bracing herself upon him with a shaky smile. “I’ve never been son-zoned before. It’s so, so much worse than the friend-zone.”

Ingrid has tears in her eyes as she falls out of her chair, onto the ground below her. Felix isn’t much better, though at the very least he’s not making any noise. But, well… his body’s shaking like he’s trying to dislodge an arrow stuck inside him, so he’s not particularly subtle either.

She’s almost impressed that he’s managed to keep a smile off his face, though.

“Alright,” She decides to spare Sylvain the rest of the class having nothing to focus on but him. “I think it’s about time we go over what we’ll be doing this month, in regard to the upcoming Rite of Rebirth.”

That steadies everyone but Ingrid, who’s still getting herself back on her feet. She waits until the girl’s sat back in her chair, still giggling quietly, to continue speaking.

“Are you referring to what you spoke of in the Archbishop’s chamber, Professor?” Ashe speaks up.

She nods as he goes quiet, letting her be the one to inform the rest of them. They lean forward, interest’s peaked as they look to her for information.

“Okay… listen up.”

\-----

The month is gone in the blink of an eye.

Byleth has done everything she needs to, though. She’s ‘gathered’ the information she requires to lead her students to the tomb and retrieve her blade. She’s spoken with some students outside of her class, namely some of the Golden Deer, because she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Claude, and honestly, that’s starting to grow just a bit suspicious.

According to them, he hasn’t been avoiding her, simply focusing on his studies. She knows Claude, though, has fought by his side an innumerous number of times.

He does not study, not on something that hasn’t piqued his interest. He’s too talented to ever bother.

The question of what exactly he’s doing hangs on her lips as she guides her students into the Holy Mausoleum.

She knows to expect enemies and tells them that they should be ready. She can’t exactly be entirely forthright with them, if she tells them she knows enemies are here, they’ll probably wonder just how she’d received such information, and that’s a can of worms she doesn’t exactly feel like opening up.

She hears her students gasp as they look over the fifty or so Western Church Soldiers in the tomb, along with a few of Those Who Slither. It’s mainly the man at the back, who’s working on the seal on Seiros’ tomb, but Jeritza might as well be.

He works under Edelgard, technically, but with the girl becoming deeper and deeper integrated into the group, Jeritza finds himself falling in just the same. He doesn’t complain, honestly, the man works more on a whim than by some grand plan, but Byleth’s also fairly sure he’s never much liked Those Who Slither anyways.

He’s always first to alert them to when they’ll use the pillars of light, after all, and is always completely willing to cut Those Who Slither down when Byleth’s sided with Edelgard. After the war, that is, when the empress is done using them.

It doesn’t matter. Too many losses, too much time, Edelgard’s future… it is not the one for her.

But the Death Knight before her… well, he has his uses.

“You all, split yourselves down the middle. Dimitri, lead one company off to the left, Mercedes, you lead the second off to the right.”

Time to test if the woman had been paying attention to her lessons. She smiles slightly as Mercedes balks at the order, before, with a small gulp, she nods.

“I’ll do it, Professor.”

She takes Annette, Dedue, and Ingrid, leaving them with a fairly solid spread of front-line fighters, and backline utility. Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain, and Ashe make up the other group, and while it lacks any magical prowess, it more than makes up for it in raw skill.

It’s Dimitri who catches her.

“Professor?” He questions, turning his head to her as the two groups come to a halt, looking at her. “What are you doing?”

She steps forward, smirking back at them.

“Just getting some practice in.” She speaks as she draws her sword, and steps towards the Death Knight. “I’ll take this guy, then meet you in the middle. Got it?”

Dimitri seems uncertain, but another look, and a small smile, is enough to have him sighing and nodding his head.

“Understood, Professor. Please do take care of yourself.”

“Honestly, so reckless.” Mercedes complains from off to her right, as the rest of her company goes on ahead. “Professor, if you get yourself hurt, then you can ask the infirmary to heal you!”

She laughs at the woman’s worry. It is not entirely misplaced, as even they can tell the enemy she plans on facing is frighteningly powerful.

“I have no quarrel with you. Leave and you shall live.” Jeritza’s voice comes out distorted and altered. “If you desire death, however, I shall grant it to you.”

She flips her sword a bit cockily, letting the veneer of an overconfident swordswoman flow over her. It’s not terribly hard to fake, given that she is an overconfident swordswoman, just that, unlike the faux warrior she’s pretending to be, she has enough skill to back up her attitude.

She dashes into the man without a word. How he’s managed to get a horse into a tomb… Byleth’s content not asking. It doesn’t particularly matter, for the first thing she does is force him off of the beast.

Jeritza makes a small noise of surprise as he’s flung off, and really, he has every right to be surprised, given that he’s probably not met a match for his scythe in quite a long while, if ever. She waits for him to stand as his horse scurries away, though where it’s going to go, Byleth doesn’t really know.

_“Did he like… teleport it in, maybe?”_

Her eyes widen as she nods.

_“That must’ve been it.”_

His ability to teleport isn’t exactly a problem. Unlike Edelgard and Hubert, Jeritza is far less prone to running away. That probably has more to do with his overwhelming strength than anything else, but at the very least, it means he won’t flee until she’s had her fill.

And really, that’s all this is. Practice.

Jeritza is one of the few people who can lock blades with her this early on. Her father is a given, and she does her best to monopolize his time, but honestly, with having to teach, take her class out on missions, socialize with the other students, and worry about meeting certain times and requirements as the months ticked by, while he has to worry about Rhea and the Church, she doesn’t get nearly as much time with her father as she wants.

And so, Jeritza makes for a nice sparring partner, whether he knows it or not.

Actually, she’s sure he doesn’t know it, because he is still very actively trying to kill her.

She vaults over his Scythe as it tries to disembowel her, and kicks off of his body, knocking him backwards as she licks her lips, feeling a bit of fire fill her breast. She wouldn’t say she loves combat, it’s not exactly the reason she’s doing all of this, but it’s hard not to at least get some enjoyment out of something you’ve spent your entire lives perfecting.

There are no opponents who can stand against her, not when she’s serious. She’d know, she’d practically dueled every man, woman, and child on the entirety of Fódlan at least once. The only people who could keep up with her were some of the other immortals in their true forms, Rhea and the two other saints. Even then, the battles favored her, given that she knew everything about them from having fought them so often.

The three lords are rather skilled as well. Claude had the least chance against her, for even with distance, he's liable to get brought down with the Sword of the Creator’s reach. Edelgard followed, for she wore heavier armor than the others, and found herself a slower, albeit heavier hitting target for it.

The difference in their styles, however, weighed in her favor. She is fast and frenetic, able to weave several hits in between Edelgard’s strikes.

Dimitri, even, she’s able to duel solo. He’s the most powerful of the three in single combat, acrobatic maneuvers brought about by rage and a lack of regard for himself and his body made him a rather formidable opponent even for her, and the ability to take multiple strikes from almost any weapon, thanks to his larger than average strength, has a habit of sneaking up on her.

She’d spent more than a few resets on all three of them over the years, and even if she claims Dimitri is the deadliest, the other two aren’t far behind him when it comes to striking Byleth down.

Her mind is actually forced to focus on her little duel with Jeritza as the man reaches out towards her, and nearly manages to grip her by the throat. This fight is interesting, largely because she doesn’t want to hurt Jeritza if she doesn’t have to. He’s Mercedes little brother, and that marks him as important.

Plus, even though he’s a bit of an asshole, Byleth actually quite likes him. they’re not exactly close, but she can appreciate the effort he’s put in.

Even if that effort occasionally gets her and her friends killed.

Their battle finishes with a small flourish from her. It’s not much, just a small spin as she holds her sword out towards him, and then, faking exhaustion, steps back.

“Ah, crap.” She pants out. “Alright, I’m done. You’re good. Better than I expected even.”

She can’t see Jeritza’s face beneath his mask, but she can tell the Death Knight is confused. Evidently, he’d not really expected the fight to end there. He too had lost himself in that feeling, and he seemed to be realizing it as well.

“Hmph. Then perhaps you should’ve left me be, as I said.” His voice calls out as he walks by her, looking to, likely, retrieve his horse from the corner it’d taken up residence in. “I have no mercy for weaklings.”

She can appreciate the final jab at her, even if they both know that at worst, she’d been going even with him. She doesn’t mind his attempt at keeping up appearances.

She looks towards her two groups and finds them handling themselves relatively well. Dimitri’s group is further along, largely, she assumes, due to the difference in leadership ability between him and Mercedes, whose group looks far less exhausted, but also antsy, like they could be going further, doing more.

 _“Mercedes is keeping them back.”_ She tells Sothis more as an excuse to tell anyone as she dashes through the middle of the chamber, cutting down a few Western Church soldiers. _“She’s playing things safe. Not enough confidence in herself to lead them.”_

_“Yeah, but it’s better than the alternative.”_

She nods at that, thinking back to a lifetime where she’d wanted to test Felix’s capabilities as a leader. She’d let him command the Blue Lions during a random confrontation with some bandits.

Well, they’d all come back alive. That’d been about the only positive thing she could say about it. She’d had to use every single pulse, but hey, they’d done it.

She’d decided then that he could keep his whole ‘lone wolf’ thing.

Still, she knows from experience that Mercedes makes a great commander. She’s a ‘play it safe’ kind of person, and that translates well to leading a medical corps. Even if she’s the type to try and save everyone she can, she’s also the type to respect her own limits.

 _“You can’t save anyone if you’re the one to die.”_ Sothis summarizes rather quaintly, before looking to her. _“So, you backing them up, or?”_

_“Nah, I’m grabbing my sword.”_

_“Hmph, you and that thing.”_ Her patron goddess laughs at her enthusiasm. _“Technically you’re wielding a really fucked up version of my spine, y’know.”_

_“Then I’ll be sure I’m extra gentle.”_

_“Not sure how much that helps.”_

_“Seems like a you problem, in that case.”_

She tunes out Sothis’ response as she forces her way into the enemy formation. She ducks underneath a poorly aimed strike, and, like a coiled viper, strikes in less than a second, lopping her opponents arm clean off. Before he can so much as open his mouth, his head follows, and she’s moving.

A few others get in her way, but they go out much the same. She hears the mage at the back of the room cry out in anger, telling them to hold her back. They don’t have a chance, and they know it, but for some reason, they rally. If Byleth has to guess, then the member of Those Who Slither has threatened them with something, though with what doesn’t matter. They’re cut down within a few moments, and she reaches Seiros’ tomb.

Well, her fake tomb. It’s more of a container for Byleth’s sword than anything.

Mr. Mage springs the lock, and she cuts him down without a single bit of hesitation. There, waiting inside, sits the Sword of the Creator.

_“And, once more, also technically my spine.”_

_“Don’t make it weird, Sothis.”_

_“What do you mean make it-”_

Her energy explodes outwards as the sword recognizes her. A fiery blaze that briefly engulfs her, until it burns away and fades. It’s enough, however, to distract everyone in the chamber for a brief moment, and for her to notice Catherine pour into the chamber, along with quite a few others.

She shouts something, and the guardsmen move in. The rest of the Western Church Soldiers are rounded up quickly. Byleth, meanwhile, greets her students, who instantly swarm her with questions.

“Professor, that sword-”

“Is that some sort of Church artifact-”

“That was in Seiros’ coffin, was it-”

“Oh great, so you’re special too-”

“Professor, I feel the need to ask you to drinks again. That was hot as-”

“Enough!” Dimitri shouts, shutting everyone besides Dedue and Mercedes, who’d remained entirely silent, up. “Everyone, calm down.” He turns to her, regarding her with no less intrigue, perhaps more even, than the rest of the students. “Professor, if you don’t mind… please, explain what it is that’s going on.”

She debates feigning innocence, or just coming out and saying it. Neither has any real affect, there are an awful lot of choices like that, ones that don’t really matter. In the end, she decides instead to take a rather neutral path.

“Not quite sure, but… I don’t know, I just sort of… resonated with this sword.” She can’t exactly say ‘oh yeah, this is the spine of the goddess living in my head’, even if she thinks that’d be really funny.

“Huh.” Sylvain says, walking over and poking the Sword of the Creator with one finger. “Well, it’s certainly active. It looks like a Heroes’ Relic.”

“It is a Heroes’ Relic, Sylvain.” A voice calls out from just beyond them. “It is the most powerful Heroes’ Relic of all. The Sword of the Creator.”

They turn to see Rhea practically gliding across the ground, her steps echoing quietly in the tiny chamber as the rest of the Western Church’s hapless goons are escorted outside.

“The Sword of the Creator?” Dimitri questions. “I’ve… heard the legends, but I never thought it was actually _real._ ”

Rhea seemed to get a kick out of that.

 _“Yeah, I wonder why.”_ Sothis smarms inside her head, to Byleth’s amusement.

“You’d be surprised at how many old legends have a kernel of truth to them.” Rhea smiles at their group. “Still… It is wonderful to see the sword has taken to you Professor.”

The Archbishop eyes her hungrily, and really, that’s about the only way Byleth can think to phrase it.

“I would like a full report of what happened hear tonight, Professor,” Rhea begins, before looking over the rest of them. “To you students as well. This failed attempt to steal from the casket of Seiros one of the most powerful artifacts the world has ever seen… it cannot go unpunished. _Will not._ ”

She’s not the only one to pale slightly at the woman’s words.

“I would also like to have you all questioned by Catherine and her men.” The Archbishop continues, shaking off her earlier darkness. “Just a quick couple of interviews, it shan’t take more than a few hours, and-”

“Uhm, ma’am?”

Both Rhea and Byleth turn towards the voice, and Ingrid coughs awkwardly.

“S-sorry, I mean, Archbishop. If you wouldn’t mind, I think we’re all fairly exhausted.” Ingrid does her best to get them all out of there as quickly as possible, without having to jump through so many hoops, which is an effort Byleth can’t help but support. “If you wouldn’t mind, could we skip the interviews, and just give our reports tomorrow?”

“Well, it is rather late…” Rhea hums, before sighing and looking up at them with a genial smile that Byleth can’t help fur feel is fake. “I suppose that would be fine. I will expect you all to have those reports for me come the afternoon, however.”

“We will, Lady Rhea.” Mercedes bows to the woman, a calming and genial smile overtaking her features.

As the woman walks off, it is Dimitri of all people who lets out a small laugh.

“Nicely done, Ingrid.”

His childhood friend goes slightly red, evidently a little embarrassed to have dodged the Archbishop of all people.

“Ah… well…”

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining.” Sylvain smirked. “Still though, Professor… the Sword of the Creator. Does that make you, like… Nemesis’ eight-hundredth descendant?”

The boy’s got his numbers wrong, because even if she had been related to Nemesis, given that only twelve-hundred years had passed, give, or take, since his fall, she’d have been more his sixtieth or seventieth descendant. She doesn’t say this, though, because she’d sound like an asshole.

“Somehow I doubt I’m related to the magical God-king who got Seiros’d.” She laughs, even if, compared to the truth, it’s a hell of a lot easier to explain. “Seriously though, we’ll discuss this tomorrow. For right now, get some sleep. Job well done, everyone.”

Their group gives off a light cheer as they head for the stairs at the entrance of the hall. Dedue and Annette chat amiably, well, more Annette never stops speaking, and Dedue accepts it with a small, unnoticeable smile.

Sylvain clears his throat, and Byleth preemptively sighs.

“So, y’know, I feel I might’ve gone misheard earlier.” He murmurs quietly, turning to her and smiling cockily. “So, about that date Profess-”

He is grabbed by the scruff by Felix, who gets right in his face.

“Could you make an effort to keep it in your pants for half a damned second, Sylvain!?”

The red head laughs uncomfortably as the rest of the Blue Lions sigh.

\-----

Those from the Western Church who’d survived the initial battle had been summarily executed, and Rhea had taken to speaking with her about her new weapon.

It hadn’t been anything she hadn’t already heard, nor had it been even particularly interesting. Rhea had fed her the Church’s false history, where Nemesis had been some great king with good intentions, corrupted by greed.

Byleth had done her absolute best to stay resolute through it, but Seteth had caught her yawning more than once. Luckily, she’d been able to pretend she’d been up late grading assignments, which had earned her a pointed glare and a reminder to tackle projects in moderation, but no more.

Explaining to her students hadn’t been terribly difficult either, which made things easier. They took Rhea’s story without much difficulty, and though Annette had been curious about her Crest of Flames, it had, of course, been Hanneman who truly eclipsed everyone else.

And so, she’d lost that week to the (nearly) mad man’s machinations.

Still, she’d gotten to speak with Edelgard a few times during that period, and while she hadn’t been overwhelmingly forthright, she’d at the very least congratulated the Professor on a job well done.

She’d also stared long and hard at the Sword of the Creator on her hip, not that Byleth could really blame the girl for that.

It took another week or so for Lonato to be released. His freedom had been a bit behind schedule, and she had a feeling that'd been due to questioning about the Western Church, and, more likely, the group they were working with. Byleth knows, however, that Lonato carries no information on Those Who Slither, and so he’s released.

Ashe had seen him off with a relief so palpable she’d felt the need to rub his back as he watched his father go.

They’d received word of Miklan the week after that.

Up to no good, as always, Sylvain’s older brother had always been a tough case. He had always seemed virtually indefensible, given that he’d tried to kill Sylvain in his early life. But, at the same time, it hadn’t been like that could be blamed entirely on him, either. He’d been a teenager bereft of any of the things he’d been promised, of the respect he’d been raised with, of even love or attention, all tossed in the gutter the moment Sylvain had been born.

Things with Miklan had always been… weird. Complicated and weird.

Before they know it, the time to sortie has arrived, and they step out of Garreg Mach with a sluggish air about them.

The trip there is only exacerbated by the rain.

“Man, how typical of my brother to hole himself up in some tower in the middle of nowhere.” Sylvain grumbles quietly, seething under the surface as he grips onto his lance. “I’ll be sure to give him my review of the surrounding areas, though I think he’ll end up being rather disappointed with my opinion.”

“You must remember to put your personal conflicts aside.” Gilbert speaks up, and in that moment, Byleth actually remembers he’s here.

The man is overwhelmingly quiet, probably because he’s been avoiding Annette like the plague, and doesn’t want her to suddenly notice him. Byleth is also incredibly determined to get her to notice him, and so, rather subtly (she thinks), she throws a small rock at the girl’s back.

Annette turns to her with a questioning look, before glancing at Gilbert and blinking twice. Her eyes widen immediately, and she stalks towards him with a pouting glare. Gilbert seems to see her at that exact moment as well, for he finds something to do with the rest of their company off behind them somewhere.

It takes all Byleth has not to drag him back here, kicking and screaming.

Annette and Gilbert will resolve their issues in time, even if she does nothing about it. Sure, she can hurry it along, but there’s not much reason to. It’s not particularly a waste of effort…

More an overexertion.

So, she lets the man hide away like a coward for now, as the tower in the distance grows ever closer.

\-----

It becomes apparent very quickly that their teamwork is pretty mediocre in this lifetime.

That probably has something to do with the way Byleth and Dimitri have both been distracted with Edelgard, and how she’s been worried about Claude’s lack of presence. Not to mention tackling everything like normal in the background, talking with students outside her main class, keeping up with the staff, returning lost items (and by the goddess, how are her students the most butter-fingered people in the world!?) and making time for her and Sothis to relax as much as they could.

Still, that lack of teamwork is beginning to show when they’re being flanked by multiple soldiers from both sides, and, instead of turning to her or Dimitri for orders, her students simply charge into the fray.

It doesn’t matter too terribly, Byleth is nothing if not a powerful combatant, and with the Sword of the Creator back in her hands, she’s a force of nature once more. The whip-blade is like a venomous snake, lashing out and taking the lives of all it touches.

Those flanking them from behind are dead before they know what hit them, and those in front have a scant few seconds to realize they’ve made poor life choices before they’re slashed aside.

Still, having to cover for Felix is normal, expected, even. The boy’s arrogant and crass, and charges forward. He can handle himself the majority of the time, but he doesn’t quite know his limits yet.

The rest of them, though? That’s unusual, and not in a good way.

Unfortunately, there’s not much she can do about it now, and so she resolves to worry about this later once they’ve returned home.

\-----

Never let it be said that there does not exist such a thing as ‘too much confidence’ in Byleth, for her students seem to come to the magical conclusion that no matter what situation they get themselves into, she can get them out of it.

They’re right the majority of the time, being beset upon by eight or nine soldiers right in front of her isn’t something she can’t handle.

But Annette of all people charging down three barbarians, a country mile from Byleth _and_ the rest of their forces!? She has to pulse once and catch up with the girl in her next attempt, pulling her back before she loses her head, and quite literally at that.

They’ve just about reached the top, though. She can see Miklan barking orders, and younger bandits following his lead. They’re probably outcasts like him, people trying to make something of themselves who’d turned to villainy.

She has pity for them. Pity that she will not allow to stay her hand.

“That’s him.” Sylvain calls to the rest of them, his face ashen and his tone bleak. “That’s Miklan.”

The brothers lock eyes for just a moment, and it’s enough for Miklan to snarl wildly, hop off his makeshift ‘throne’ at the top of the tower, and bring the Lance of Ruin around, pointing it down at them.

“KILL THEM ALL!” He screams.

She doesn’t miss the way Sylvain flinches at the words, but before she can bother to comfort him, Felix has already stepped forward, cracking his neck.

“You backing down now?” He gazes at Sylvain, giving him a once over. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

And maybe it’s just that Felix is the one providing it, but the advice sounds like something Sylvain can’t possibly contest. The Fraldarius heir is too blunt, too endlessly honest to lie for the sake of someone else, even at a time like this. Any encouragement out of his mouth is, therefore, the truth.

At least, that’s how she sees it, and it’s how the rest of the Blue Lions see it, as well. Their smiles are true as they pat Sylvain on the back, subtly pushing him forward.

“You’ve got this.” Ingrid speaks. “C’mon. We’ve got your back, but that means you’ve gotta’ move.”

She closes her eyes and steps forward.

_“They’ve got this.”_

_“Not sure why you ever doubt them.”_ Sothis smiles. _“They’re even more capable than **you** think they are.”_

_“Wow, that’s pretty damned capable.”_

_“Oh hush.”_

She laughs, though luckily, her students assume it’s her laughing because of their support, and they smile.

“Alas… my men!” Sylvain shouts dramatically, pointing his own spear towards Miklan, and even if the confidence is fake, backed up by those behind him, it feels real enough in the moment that Byleth will follow him. “We have, for too long, sat in the shadows-”

“Okay, wrap it up.” Felix groans out, and Mercedes giggles quietly as Sylvain’s’ expression falters.

“Fine, fine. Sheesh, you’re all so boring.” He shakes his head, before focusing in on the oncoming forces.

“Take them out!”

\-----

Byleth’s never quite sure what to do when she’s standing before Miklan’s defeat form.

It’s been an awfully long time since she’s had them face the giant monster version of him. It’s good practice for dealing with them, surely, and they’ll have to deal with many in the coming years, but they’ll be fighting more in the coming months, it’s not like it’ll be that long.

And it at least gives Sylvain the choice of what to do with him.

“Your call.” She says honestly, watching as Sylvain’s spear rattles anxiously in his hand. “If you want to finish him off, that’s fine, if you want to bring him back to the church, that’s fine…”

Sylvain flinches again, knowing both of those first options have the same outcome.

“And if you want to release him, that’s fine.” She shrugs as the others look towards her.

Dimitri looks uncertain about that, and she gets why. A single bandit might not raid a town, but he could certainly still cut someone down on the side of the road. Miklan isn’t a saint, he’s not even a good person, probably undeserving even of this chance.

The young king’s not terribly keen to allow him one.

“You’re despicable.” Sylvain pushes out through his clenched jaw. “You and your ilk… are despicable, _Miklan_.”

He’d sneered the name out, though, if his brother cared about such a thing, he didn’t show it.

“What? You think I’m gonna’ give a shit? Beg?” Miklan cackles. “Nah, I might be ‘despicable’, but I’ve got my pride.” He spits on Sylvain’s shoe. “DO IT! Do it you fucking coward!”

Sylvain grinds his teeth together, and without another word, stabs his spear down.

Miklan winces, but opens his eyes a moment later, presumably wondering why he’s not currently bleeding out all over the floor. He looks up into the narrowed eyes of his brother, his spear imbedded into the ground just to the older brother’s left.

“Go.” Sylvain grits out through his teeth. “Get out of here.”

Miklan sits dumbfounded for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“I SAID GET OUT!” Sylvain screeches, his voice cracking in a rare show of emotion.

His brother doesn’t have to be told twice, standing, and rushing down the spiraling stairs. He’ll have his work cut out for him in evading the guards at the bottom of the tower, but that’s his business.

“And if I ever see you again… If I even hear about you!?” Sylvain shouts to the fleeing boy. “I’ll deal with you myself!”

He pants and gasps for breath as he falls to his knees, and Byleth can’t at all blame him for being utterly spent. The others walk over to him and give him small comments, reassurances. Dedue pats him on the back a single time.

“If it matters… I think you did the right thing.” The gentle giant speaks, and Byleth knows he is thinking of his own family, gone, thinking that if he were ever forced to try and take their lives, evil or not, he’d have been unable.

To Sylvain, those words seem to matter more than any of the others.

\-----

They arrive back at the Monastery the following day, and Byleth is back to business as usual. She teaches her students for the day or two allotted to her before Flayn’s kidnapping.

She’s thought to prevent it from happening before, has done so, quite a few times, but she’s never actually stuck with it. For one, it’s never served as a massive piece of trauma or stress for the young immortal, largely due to the fact that she’s knocked out through most of it, and secondly, the results of her preventing it are often worse than not doing so.

Unless she expressly draws attention to the fact she’s saved Flayn from being kidnapped, Seteth still mistrusts her, and influences Rhea behind the scenes. Come later on, Rhea’s trust in her is diminished if she chooses to side with anyone but her directly.

So, in the end, despite it probably being a better thing to do, morally speaking, Byleth finds herself letting Flayn disappear.

Sylvain is back on his feet not long after their mission, slinging jokes, and puns around that have even Mercedes sighing in pain. His decision to spare his brother is, ultimately, a meaningless one for Byleth. She can influence it, decide it for him, but there is no difference.

Either dead or alive, Miklan is never heard from again. She’s not sure if that means he heads off to die, or whether or not he honestly tries to turn his life around. More than likely, it’s the former, but she’s always hoped, quietly, that the latter is the case instead.

When she receives the news of Flayn’s disappearance, she lets her students know. Some react with shocked whispers, others with careful affirmations. Manuela herself will go missing in a few days as well, and it’s then that she’ll move, arriving in time to save both and earn their favor. It is not the kindest option, but it is the one that gives her the highest chance of victory in the long run.

In the meantime, she meets with students, and keeps building up her rapport with them. She invites Dorothea and Marianne into the chapel to sing Hymns with her, a task that Sothis has always enjoyed immensely.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ The goddess huffs. _“Are you telling me that if people wanted to gather around and sing songs about you, you wouldn’t think that’s the best thing ever?”_

_“Maybe we’re not all narcissists like you?”_

_“Maybe someone would like their Sword of the Creator to suddenly stop working on them in the coming days?”_

_“Wait… you can do that?”_

_“Never tried.”_ She admitted. _“But do you want to find out?”_

_“Point taken.”_

Marianne isn’t good, that much is rather clear. Her voice warbles horribly, and it doesn’t help that every time she opens her mouth, she shoots her confidence in the foot. Luckily, this isn’t Byleth’s first rodeo, and she’s brought along Dorothea to steady the girl.

One might think that, as a young songstress of prodigal skill, Dorothea would be the type to be overconfident, crass, and rude. Instead, she looks out for her fellows, and is more than willing to help Marianne with her struggles. She gives her some light coaching on the spot, but more than anything, she’s a friendly presence, something Marianne doesn’t allow herself to feel much of, despite being surrounded by others who’d give her much the same treatment.

The two head out, smiling, and Byleth lets them go with one of her own.

As she exits, she catches Manuela heading off to Jeritza’s room with the man’s mask, and Byleth follows after her students arrive to inform her.

They find Manuela passed out, but with injuries none too severe. Dimitri helps Hanneman carry her to the infirmary, and the rest of them descend the steps into the Monastery’s depths.

They see Flayn, of course, but they spot another figure.

Monica…

Kronya.

She shakes her head. They’ve a battle to win first.

Looking back, she’s not sure how they always miss the fact that the soldiers appearing before them are so obviously imperial in nature. They wield imperial iron and steel blades, use imperial techniques, and call out orders with imperial accents.

At the same time, however, she knows why they draw no conclusions from this. The empire isn’t at the height of its power any longer, and this could just as easily have been a splinter group, or a mercenary battalion hired by the Death Knight.

She doesn’t comment, though, and neither do her students. Flayn and the ‘mystery girl’ take precedence.

Their trip through the caverns is neither difficult nor lengthy, but it is undeniably perilous. The place has been set up to ambush them if they unlock the wrong doors, step on the wrong tiles, or use the wrong abilities.

Luckily, Byleth already knows the way through.

She guides them with an expert hand, and they’re on the Death Knight within thirty minutes, not a loss to their names, not even a pulse utilized.

It feels good to see signs of her prowess in battle.

They clear the area out of enemies and arrive at Jeritza’s door. His face might be covered with a mask, but Byleth can still feel the smile beneath it, can still see how his hands shake in anticipation.

A minor side effect of her holding her own against him; all Jeritza wants to do now is fight her.

Luckily, someone puts a stop to that.

“Enough, Death Knight!”

All those present in the dank chamber turn to the distorted voice, and for the first time in months, the Flame Emperor makes another appearance. Dimitri gives a sharp intake of breath as he sees her, and Byleth can see the way Edelgard is trying to ignore him, to speak only to Jeritza, and leave.

“You interrupt. What for?” Jeritza speaks, still inching his horse forward, his scythe still poised to cut into her.

“You overstep your bounds.” Edelgard’s voice is one of commanding authority, even with the filter over it to keep it unidentifiable. “Your fun can wait, there will be more chances.”

Jeritza clicks his tongue against the top of his mouth, but complies, waving his hand and forming a teleport spell beneath himself. He is gone without another word.

“As for the rest of you…” Edelgard’s voice falters as she makes eye contact with the head of the Blue Lions, but she regains her footing. “This is not the last we’ll see of each other, either.”

 _“Honestly.”_ Byleth can’t help thinking. _“It’s a good attempt, but surely she must know by now…”_

Dimitri steps forward, holding out a hand.

“Wait!”

_“That Dimitri’s far too stubborn for that, right?”_

Edelgard hesitates, but it is enough. Her teleportation spell dies, and the others look ready to move in, to capitalize on that failure. Instead, Dimitri stops them. If the looks of absolute confusion on their faces are anything to go by, then he certainly hasn’t sold out Edelgard, not that Byleth had expected him to.

“What is it you were hoping to gain from this, F-Flame Emperor?” Dimitri stutters momentarily on the name, though, luckily, he doesn’t even hint at having said Edelgard. That would’ve been a mighty fast pulse. “You kidnapped a member of the staff’s sister, and for what!?”

At the insinuation that Edelgard is somehow related to this, she stiffens. Byleth knows this entire thing is a set-up for Those Who Slither, allowing them to sneak Kronya inside and have her take over Monica’s life, but she imagines that there’s a decent chance Edelgard is left out of the entirety of their plan.

In the lifetimes where Jeralt had been slain by Kronya’s hand, Edelgard’s feelings towards her grief had seemed genuine, even if she had basically said “you need to get up and get moving”.

But she’s never sure, it’s simply one of those things she’s never bothered to ask. Before now, the importance of such a thing had seemed at best nebulous, and at worst a waste of time.

 _“Now would’ve been an awfully good time to have that information.”_ Sothis supplies unhelpfully.

 _“Yeah.”_ She agrees. _“Yeah it would’ve.”_

“I… that is to say, I, personally…” Edelgard sighs, and the voice almost sounds like her own, the magic that changes it faltering. If Byleth had been trying to recognize it, she imagines she could’ve placed it off of that.

She turns to the others and is relieved to see no signs of recognition there.

“I, personally, had no say in this.”

Byleth’s eyes widen minutely as she looks towards the Flame Emperor once more, who’s facing the wall opposite them all, unable to look them in the eye. Despite what would normally be an obvious sign of a lie, she is almost positive that Edelgard is telling the truth.

“So, you did not condone… something like this?” Dimitri sounds hopeful, so terribly, desperately hopeful. He’s trying to cling to the Edelgard he knows, even as the veneer crumbles around him. “You didn’t… want this, did you?”

There is silence for a while, interrupted only by the awkward shuffling of the Blue Lions as they retrieve both Flayn and ‘Monica’.

“No.” Edelgard’s voice is pained. “Not this.”

Dimitri practically collapses in relief, but he holds himself up with the butt of his spear.

“That’s…” More than he could’ve hoped for, Byleth thinks, but less than he wanted. “Good.” Dimitri’s smile shows he’s holding back.

The Flame Emperor breathes in, and, without anymore ceremony, teleports away. The Blue Lions let her go, having bigger fish to fry.

“How is Flayn?” Dimitri asks as he turns back to his classmates. “And… who is this?”

“No one is sure, your majesty.” Dedue answers, turning away from the two girls in order to give a make-shift status report. “Still, Mercedes has at least issued a clean bill of health for the both of them, leaving out a potential bit of shock over what happened to them.”

Dimitri sighs out in relief.

“That’s good.”

It’s Felix who shows the suspicion the rest of the group is feeling first. He’s the least good at hiding it, and because of that, Dimitri notices.

“Felix? Is something the matter?”

The teen sighs, looking over at his ‘friend’ with narrowed eyes and a curt tone.

“Do you know them?”

Dimitri’s eyes widen immediately, and there’s a part of Byleth that wants to prevent this conversation from happening, to cut this off now before Dimitri gets them both sold out, but instead, she allows her curiosity to sate itself. She still has all of her pulses and can easily afford blowing one on seeing this conversation through.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking if you’ve met that…” Felix hisses out, before reigning himself back in. “Person… before!”

Dimitri staggers back, but Ingrid reigns in Felix with a hand on his shoulder, causing the boy to sneer and turn away from them both.

“What Felix means to say,” Ingrid gives him a pointed look, which he ignores. “Is that… you simply seemed awfully willing to give them an out, Dimitri.”

Byleth nods, having more than caught that herself, and having to at the very least play for the audience that she’s not complicit.

“I… have no idea what you mean.”

She almost puts her head in her hands. Sylvain actually does begin to rub his temples, clearly feeling the beginnings of a headache at the boy’s words.

“Dimitri…” Ingrid’s voice tells Byleth, and probably the boy she’s speaking to as well, that she’s not an idiot, that she won’t fall for such a weak excuse. “Please, you can trust us. Whatever this is-”

“I’ll tell you.”

 _“Okay, time to abandon ship!”_ Sothis calls from beside her.

 _“Yeah, I had the same idea”_ She nods back, reaching into her mind and feeling the familiar–

“Not now, though.”

She’s brought back to reality as Dimitri’s voice washes over them all. The weight of his words is heavy, impossibly so. She’s not sure the rest of them can handle it.

“I can’t trust you all with this… not yet.” Dimitri sounds almost disgusted with himself for having to say such a thing, for having to doubt them. “But… it’s too important. If something happened…”

He thinks he’s worrying for nothing, but Byleth knows that’s not true. She’s had lifetimes where she simply informed every member of the Monastery, bar the staff, of the secrets of the rest.

A war for the continent had broken out within a day.

It isn’t ever who one suspects, either. It’s not people like Dedue, or Felix. Those people are doubtless untrusting of Edelgard, but they trust Dimitri, whether they like that fact or not. No, it’s people like Ingrid, sworn to her code, or Ashe, too kind for his own good, and unwilling to risk his friend’s safety on some idle wish.

Byleth knows he’s right not to trust them with this, or, at the very least, not yet. Come a few months from now, perhaps they’ll be ready, but she has a feeling time will catch up to them before then.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Annette who comes up and slaps Dimitri’s shoulder, earning her a few odd looks from the others.

“Hey, it’s fine!” She reassures him, even if some of the others seem to think otherwise. “I mean, I’ve got some stuff I’m not going to tell the rest of you. I don’t _not_ trust you guys, it’s just… complicated, y’know?”

She thinks such things are her relationship with her father, perhaps, or perhaps feelings she might have or grow to have for some in the Monastery.

Those are another thing that change almost randomly. Tiny little effects she has on the world that change who falls for whom, usually outside of her control. She’s seen Annette with Ashe, Caspar, Dimitri, Dedue, Mercedes, Claude, Lindhardt, and even Felix.

She’s never quite sure how that one starts, though, whenever Byleth had asked, she’d only ever received the rather unbelievable answer of “Oh, I was singing about how hungry I was one time in the gardens!”

The others groan at Annette’s casual dismissal, but none push. If anything, they can see how much this means to Dimitri, and even if Felix shoots the man a death glare, the young king holds firm.

It seems like the tension fizzles out before long, and not that long after, they’re taking the two girls in their arms and making their way back to the Monastery. Dedue offers to hold Flayn, which she accepts, but Byleth chooses to take Monica in her own hands, cradling her close to her body.

She’d thought a long time ago that Kronya had merely been feigning sleep at this moment, but when she taps on the side of the girl’s face, there is no response. Trust Those Who Slither to be so paranoid about people learning their plan, that they actually go through and drug one of their own agents to make her pass out.

She can’t say it doesn’t work, though. It'd been more than enough to fool Byleth the first lifetime, and enough to fool the rest of her team, whoever they may be, on every other occasion.

 _“Huh.”_ Sothis materializes beside her, leaning on her side and resting herself on her elbow, which, to be fair, is supported by nothing. _“Can’t say I saw that talk working out coming.”_

 _“Can’t say I did, either.”_ Byleth finds herself laughing as they all make their way out of the underground. _“Still… I’m fairly sure we’ve not seen the end of **that** conversation.”_

 _“Oh, almost certainly not.”_ The goddess snorts. _“But still, they’ll fight, and they’ll cry, and then they’ll laugh and talk and joke and bleed together, as they always have.”_

Byleth finds herself smiling at the tiny girls soft tone, a warmth settling in her stomach.

_“You really do love them as well, don’t you?”_

_“Are you joking? Of course, I do, we’ve been over this!”_ She gets a small laugh out of how indignantly Sothis pouts at her. _“Honestly, you’re insufferable. I already said I… I’m trying to be more forward about how I feel.”_

 _“Yes, yes, my apologies.”_ She giggles quietly to herself as Sothis falls in beside her, deigning to walk among them. _“We’ll keep them safe. All of them.”_

 _“Mm.”_ Sothis agrees, walking a little closer and leaning against her. As usual, she can’t feel the contact, but she appreciates the intimacy. _“This life. We’ll do it this life.”_

Byleth smirks amusedly.

_“I don’t know about that, but sure.”_

Sothis stiffens for a moment, something weighing her down momentarily, but she otherwise continues walking.

Byleth looks over her students and watches the little interactions that play out. Sylvain is harassing Dimitri, saying quite jokingly that he shouldn’t have gone and fallen for someone who wears such gaudy armor, and whether or not he realizes it, he’s at least partially right. Ingrid and Mercedes smile indulgently off to the side, while Annette discusses this and that with each of them.

Dedue has his eyes on Felix, probably making sure the other boy can’t corner Dimitri later and coerce the answers out of his king. Ashe, to his credit, seems to be trying to get the two to play nice, since their staring contest is practically giving off sparks.

Soon, Flayn will join their ranks, and even though Flayn follows Byleth along wherever she goes, she’s always thought of her as a Blue Lion. It probably has something to do with the fact that whenever she sides with Edelgard, the girl leaves her side, cutting her ‘Black Eagles Appearances’ in half, and she’s simply sided with Claude less than Dimitri.

It will be her face laughing alongside the others in a few days’ time, sitting in her classroom and learning tactics and strategies, alongside poems and other asinine things, despite being an immortal.

She looks at the girl in Dedue’s hands, Flayn, and the girl in her own arms, ‘Monica’, and can’t help but think of what the future holds.

 _“Things…”_ She sighs as her thoughts overwhelm her. _“…Are about to start getting complicated.”_

Sothis snorts, her earlier hesitation all but forgotten.

_“Sure, but when have they not been?”_

She thinks on that for a moment, before finding herself smiling once more.

_“Hah…”_

_“Perhaps you’re right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeell, I thought this would come out sooner than it actually did. My apologies on that. I'll say the next chapter should come in around a week and a half to two weeks, but I can also totally see how my word isn't the most trustworthy either!
> 
> Anyways, this is definitely the most 'filler' of any of the chapters I've done, largely because it just bridges the gap between story sections, covering in detail things that need to be covered, while giving some context to certain actions. There's some hints of later events in there, too.
> 
> My goal is to have this story entirely done by Christmas, which would mean I'd need to release around ten chapters in five months. Doable, but I'll have to up my pace. Still, I hope to match it, and hope you guys continue reading!
> 
> To everyone that's commented, just want to say thanks, I always appreciate them, and try to reply when I can!
> 
> Alright, I'll see everyone... soon? well, at some point, at least.


	5. Diverging Paths

Seteth isn’t normally… obvious with his feelings, but with the way he bows for all of her students to see, his posture dipped and vulnerable, she knows she’s succeeded in winning his favor.

As scary as such a thing is to see up close.

“Thank you.” The saint speaks honestly, rising and then, to her eternal horror, bowing again. “Truly, thank you. I have nothing to repay you with, but-”

“Y-you’re fine!” She holds her hands up, signaling her surrender as she laughs awkwardly. Even for her, this is a bit much. “I did my duty, that’s all!”

Well, she had gone a bit far and beyond the call of it, but the spirit had been there, so to speak.

“That…” Seteth shakes his head, a small, amused smile on his face. “How foolish I was… all those months ago when you first came here, that I judged you off nothing more than a small moment of negligence. I see now that I was mistaken. You are a true hero, Ms. Eisner.”

She cringes slightly at the usage of her last name, because even her students know that particular title is off limits. She may be a six-thousand-year-old-time-traveling-goddess-warrior, technically qualifying her as both a cougar and a silver fox, but she steadfastly _refuses_ to be called ‘Eisner’.

No offense to her father, but he both _looks and is_ old. He can deal with it.

“T-Thank you.” She manages to squeeze out through a smile, all teeth. “I’m sure you don’t mind then, my request?”

“Ah, to add Flayn to the roster of the Blue Lions?” The man says, smiling and looking over to the green-haired girl in question just out of earshot, chatting amiably with Ashe and Annette. “Funnily enough, I think that will work out perfectly. After all, she came to me with the same idea the moment she woke up.”

 _“Nice.”_ Sothis summed up her thoughts rather succinctly, hovering behind her and yawning into her hand. _“Seriously though, can we hurry this up. I’m exhausted.”_

_“You’re always… eh, fine.”_

“Then I’ll make sure to write up a curriculum for her.” She says, knowing she has to say something, and having already written a perfectly paced and extremely effective curriculum earlier in the month. “When will she be joining?”

“As soon as you’re ready for her.” The man speaks, before looking over at his daughter and smiling fondly. “Goddess, seeing how she gets on with them now, you’d think they’d been classmates for months already.”

 _“Huuuuh…”_ Sothis smirks behind her. _“Isn’t that weird. I’m sure that’s a total coincidence.”_

 _“Yep. Not at all suspicious.”_ Byleth finds a smile on her face as well.

In truth, she’d taken to introducing Flayn to her class in subtle ways. Things like calling her over to the rest of the Blue Lions during their group trainings, or just so happening to run into her on mission day while prepping gear and equipment. All in an effort to make slotting her in that much easier when the time would come.

 _“Though, of course, I’ve never done something like that.”_ She smarms to Sothis.

 _“Oh, obviously.”_ The goddess jokes back, doing a poor rendition of a noble accent. _“Why, only a ratty peasant would make such an amateur mistake.”_ She made sure to annunciate every letter of ‘amateur’.

“Well then, I’ll be heading out.”

“As you will, Professor.” The man speaks to her with respect for perhaps the first or second time this life. “Know, however, that I owe you a great debt. One which I fully intend to repay.”

She smiles as she exits the chamber.

\-----

Flayn integrates well, which isn’t exactly a surprise since she already knows she will.

If the students find it odd that she has absolutely zero issues with the girl’s placement within their ranks, they don’t comment on it. They’re probably getting used to just how oddly competent she is at this by now, a bit of extra weirdness likely barely registering.

It doesn’t take that long for her to finish lessons for the day and begin making her rounds through the monastery. She’s mostly looking for lost items and chatting with Sothis to pass the time. About five minutes after she’s started, Sylvain appears to hound her once again for a date. She turns him down, as always.

He walks away with a fake disappointed pout, at this point all of them can tell he’s only continuing to tease her, it’s not exactly subtle. Even still, there’s a tiny, twisted feeling in her gut that she’s usually able to ignore, but one that surfaces now.

 _“Thinking about… how we used to operate?”_ Sothis asks, free of judgement.

She nods, grabbing a small hairclip and sighing, before walking towards Hilda’s room.

On her way there, she allows her thoughts to drift.

She’d not always turned down such requests from her students. Long, long ago, before she’d really seen herself above them, before she’d seen them as her bratty little children, they’d just been teenagers, who’d become adults. Many had been, and still are, similar ages to her, at least in body, and so she’d seen no real ethical problem in using her students hormones against them. Hell, even her fellow staff members weren’t invulnerable to her charms.

Manuela had been the easiest, already looking for someone to settle down with, but it wasn’t like Seteth and Hanneman hadn’t possessed their own chinks in their proverbial armor. Even Rhea, or Seiros as she’d come to know through their union, had fallen to her charms after enough attempts, even if later learning that the woman was both sort of her grandmother and also technically her daughter had made that much less… palatable than the others.

All that time ago, Byleth had made use of the fact that their bodies, whether male or female, are rather conventionally attractive. It hadn’t been difficult to seduce her allies, get them to open up about their problems, their thoughts and fears, their desires and wants…

Their secrets.

She’d taken advantage of them in every sense of the word. Now, it felt… not disgusting, but only a few steps removed. She knows that information comes in handy, but the price she’s paid… no, the price she’s made _them_ pay to get it is too high.

Besides, she’s long since passed the era of needing to gather that information, of discovering new things about the people surrounding her. Now, she has it all (mostly) figured out, which means she can afford instead to focus on piecing together this massive puzzle, even if such a thing often feels like pulling teeth.

…A _loooooooot_ of teeth.

She tries to push down on the guilt that elapses within her at the memories, but it’s Sothis’ steadying hand on her shoulder that she focuses on, even if she can’t really feel it.

 _“You have to let it go.”_ The goddess remarks with a tiny, sad smile. _“That was ages ago. Things are different now.”_

Left alone, even if Sothis knows it, is the fact that she considers such a thing a bit crass with Sothis in her head, a constant onlooker over everything she does. Even in more… intimate situations.

And that’s forgetting the relationship they’ve come to share. Sothis doesn’t say anything, but Byleth has always considered their actions as her being unfaithful, even if the two of them are unable to share any physical affection by nature, and even if they’d both okayed such unions at the time. She knows such feelings are idiotic. They hadn’t shared the same closeness they do now back then. Even still… she finds herself thinking on it sometimes, on the way they’d justified it once upon a time.

 _‘For the greater good’_ They’d espoused uselessly.

The words ring hollow now.

\-----

It’s upon passing Edelgard speaking with Monica in the halls that she remembers she should probably start thinking about the endgame of her time at the monastery.

They’ve made it to the halfway point, now, to the seventh of twelve months. Failing before this point is only really possible when she’s making huge, sweeping changes, but then again, it isn’t like she hasn’t done that this lifetime. Dimitri has never known Edelgard’s identity before and not immediately spiraled into a war.

Things are going, dare she say…

Well.

 _“Why would you think that!?”_ Sothis eyes her with a shudder. _“You do realize something **has** to go wrong now, right? Like, Claude’s going to hire an assassin, and kill Edelgard.”_

She puts her head in her hands.

_“I… we can pulse.”_

_“Do it. Today’s a free day, and I refuse to have that bad juju hanging over me.”_

Byleth pulses back twenty-six seconds.

\-----

The day before the battle of the Eagle and Lion, she goes to Manuela and Hanneman.

‘For what purpose?’ one might ask.

To trash talk.

“Hey, guys!” She says as she enters the faculty lounge. “Just wanted to let you know that when I destroy you all without losing a single student, you shouldn’t take it personally.”

Her fellow teachers turn to her, giving her a quick once over. Manuela raises an eyebrow challengingly, while Hanneman’s eyes are glue to her body. A less experienced person might blush at the man’s obvious advances…

She knows he’s only after her for that sweet, sweet crest.

“Why, Ms. Eisner,” She cringes at hearing the title come out of another person’s mouth, even if she knows Manuela is definitely doing it to upset her. “I’m almost offended! To think you’d come all this way here, just to make a mockery of yourself and the Blue Lions!” Manuela’s self-satisfied smirk tells her she’s playing. “Why, come tomorrow, when you’re knocked over and spanked like the spoiled children you are, your embarrassment will be tenfold! How terrible!”

“Normally I am not one to agree with Manuela,” Hanneman speaks, leaning back and curling the edges of his mustache. “But I find your words rather repulsive. And to think, I once thought you above a common mercenary. Alas, I fear I must go back on that line of thought. Or, perhaps, is it that you’re merely damaged in the head?”

They all smirk at one another confidently, none willing to back down. She’ll win, that she knows for a fact, but rubbing it in their faces first makes her feel a bit better come the day.

Is it the most mature thing she’s ever done? No. And she’s fine with that.

 _“Idiot.”_ Sothis mutters.

_“I prefer ‘child at heart’.”_

_“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”_

\-----

On the day of the battle, she’s let go of some of the worries hanging over her for this lifetime. Claude still hasn’t shown himself, Edelgard’s still being impossibly hard to read, and Dimitri is still letting the fact that he has a secret dangle in front of every other Blue Lion, which now includes Flayn, since of course it does.

Speaking of the girl, she’s fairly sure she’s not technically allowed to bring Flayn, given that she certainly hadn’t been a Blue Lion the month before, but no one had stopped her today, and nor had they ever thought to stop her, so…

Their fault, really.

She gives some light planning to the others in advance, though, to be honest, most of her plans have always been to play a reactionary game. Wait for your opponent to move in, punish it, and do so again. Enemy commanders had a frightening habit of being really dumb sometimes.

She doesn’t question things that aid her, though.

From afar, she gets her first sight of Claude in what feels like months. She’s spotted him occasionally, and it’s hard for him to avoid her when she expressly calls on him as a teacher, but he’s been avoiding her in casual scenarios, unwilling to speak with her on just what has him so bothered.

He’s an enigma at the best of times, but now he has her truly perplexed.

Loud trumpets and drums begin to build from atop a nearby cliff, and she smirks as Rhea walks forward. Each of the Leaders look confident as the woman says a few words, and then holds her hand out, effectively starting the battle.

The Blue Lions, and the kingdom soldiers and battalions they’ve all been given to simulate an actual battle, roar in ascension as Dimitri raises his lance, and points it forward, charging in front of them all and leading by example.

It’s a battle for the high ground at first. The raised platform in the center is an excellent site to defend, and it helps that the Blue Lions themselves specialize in pikes and lances, because it will make holding that position even easier.

She doesn’t even have to pitch in here, her students have already begun devising new plans to keep holding it the moment they succeed in capturing it first.

They’re not perfect, and they’re severely underestimating just how powerful some of the mages they’ll be facing are, and how deadly such forces can be to troops in a singular, centralized spot, but she doesn’t say anything. Now is an awfully good time to allow her students free reign, to be able to work without her.

Mistakes here will not cost them.

A blunted wooden arrow hits her arm, a harsh wound, but not a fatal one in actual combat. It stings, but they’re told to allow themselves to take an amount of damage they feel would be appropriate in a battle setting before departing the battlefield, and she’s taken enough wounds to her arms and legs throughout time to know that she can, for the most part, ignore them.

She instead turns towards the source of the arrow and sees Claude of all people winking at her.

 _“What?”_ She finds herself wondering. _“Why now?”_

She turns back towards her group, but finds Dimitri looking pensively towards Edelgard, and the girl herself looking back. Evidently, both are considering battling one another.

She’ll receive no help from her class, though it’s not like she needs it.

She spins the wooden training sword in her right hand, laughing when she realizes it is somehow the same one from training all those months back. A coincidence, surely, but a humorous one at least.

 _“Alright, Claude.”_ She thinks to Sothis more than anything. _“Let’s see what you’re all about.”_

She hops off the platform, and into the waiting arms of the Golden Deer.

\-----

Dimitri steps off the platform, towards where Edelgard stands, axe held to bare. She’s calling him out, and he’s more than willing to accept.

The forces around them part as well, acquiescing to the duel taking place just off of the raised platform. In the distance, he can just make out Hubert waiting behind, and a mage unit beside him. Evidently, their plan is to take him out of the fight, then annihilate the forces behind him.

He wonders if the Professor had already noticed and simply chosen not to say anything. Now would be an awfully good time to let them make their own decisions, their own mistakes.

He shakes his head; he can think on such things later.

He brings his spear before him and hears some of the rank and file shout in support. As if in retribution for that maneuver, Edelgard smiles, flipping her axe around a few times in a showy display that has no relevancy to combat. It, too, however, rouses the Black Eagles common soldiers, shouting their own encouragement for the battle ahead.

Dimitri isn’t content to simply stand still, however, and so he charges into the fray, content, at least, that he’ll be able to dictate the pace.

When they’re close enough together that no one can hear them, the haft of his spear locked against the blade of her axe, he speaks.

“So, what were you doing with Flayn last month?”

The question seems to catch the girl off guard, but it doesn’t seem to have shocked her. He imagines she’s been expecting such a conversation but is merely unprepared, or perhaps reluctant, to have it.

“… _I_ had nothing to do with that. I want that to be clear.”

He breaks away from her, an old flame warring with a bit of cold cynicism as he tries to weigh whether or not he believes her in his head.

He shouldn’t. Other than her word, he has nothing to bank such a belief on.

He finds he does anyways, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

He pivots away from her next strike, sliding slightly as his left foot struggles to find footing on the mossy stone he’s stood upon. He manages it, but a little late, for Edelgard’s overhead swing knocks him off balance, sending him clattering to the floor.

He recovers in time to avoid the wooden blade chopping at his jaw and manages to strike the woman in the side of her right leg, splitting open the bright red legging and leaving her to lean a bit heavily on her left side. In that moment, he jukes right, preying on the fact that she’ll be slow to respond.

She is, and he’s able to stand, regaining his bearings and taking a stance.

Both sides cheer and jeer in equal measure, seeing the exchange for what it’d been, a miniscule victory for him. In less than five seconds, however, Edelgard has managed to reign in any pain she’s feeling on her right side, standing normally once again.

They exchange blows back and forth in silence, content to think up their next arguments, or, at least, that’s what Dimitri’s doing. He imagines, from the strained way that Edelgard attacks, and doesn’t capitalize on any of the openings he leaves, she is doing the same.

“You… why do you continue to pursue me?” She says on their next connection, pushing into him by using some of the additional leverage she has with her weapon. “You shouldn’t. I’m not the kind of person you want to waste time on.”

“Is that not, inherently, for me to decide?” He questions, pushing back and trying to kick out the girls legs from underneath her, forcing her to backstep. “I know you, Edelgard. If you have turned down a dark path, then I consider it my duty to bring you back.”

Edelgard snarls under her breath, parrying his next strike easily and sending it plunging towards the ground, where it impacts harshly into the dirt, sticking there.

“Then allow me to make my position clear.” She speaks, bringing her axe around and nearly ‘slashing’ his arm. He manages to juke the attack by leaving his spear in the dirt, but he’s down a weapon. “I don’t _want_ your help.”

He had expected as much. Dodging around the girl’s swings, he feints to the right, to positioning towards his weapon, before dodging left, creating a huge gap between them, which he intends to exploit.

They say nothing as the uniformed soldiers around them shout out their support, and one particularly enthusiastic man throws Dimitri his own spear. He’s not sure if he should consider such a thing cheating or not, but it’s better than having to go grab his own. He accepts it with a quick nod, thanking the man inaudibly.

Edelgard, to her credit, has done about the smartest thing she can, which is to say she’s charging him the moment she realizes he hasn’t been watching her. He barely gets his weapon up in time to fend off her blow, but with the slightly heavier wooden spear in hand, the weight of which Edelgard isn’t been expecting, he’s able to gain the leverage he needs to shove her away.

He follows up immediately, landing two short blows onto her shoulders that leave her posture weak. The soldiers see the end of their little battle coming, beginning to shout and yell accordingly as he breaks through the last of Edelgard’s defenses.

Finally, with a single final flick of his weapon, he knocks the wooden axe out of Edelgard’s hands.

It hits the dirt behind them a good second or two later, landing handle first and burying itself a good three or so inches in. It won’t be pried loose easily.

He expects Edelgard to surrender, or, at least, to try and distract him. Instead, in a moment where he’s let his guard down, she flips up into him, managing to kick aside his spear and charge to the side, where she takes up Dimitri’s old weapon and holds it aloft in front of her.

“Not giving up?” He asks a bit amusedly. He receives no real response, other than Edelgard narrowing her eyes at him. “S-sorry. I… I won’t ask you to abandon whatever it is you’re working towards, but I also can’t sit by and let you do something stupid. That’s not the kind of King I’ll be.”

He sees the way the girl’s eyes narrow. She’s thinking, and at the very least, that’s good.

It’s also a window for him to strike.

He moves in the instant her eyes close, and he sees the moment where her eyes widen, and she takes a stance. However, in her haste, she hasn’t taken a stance meant for the spear she’s holding, but instead, she’s taken one for the axe that’s laying a good ten or fifteen feet away.

He grabs the haft of Edelgard’s spear and yanks it back, while simultaneously stabbing forward with his own wooden weapon. The tip may be blunted, but he has a feeling Edelgard’s stomach doesn’t know the difference as it’s forced inwards, and the girl struggles to take a breath as she has her own weapon ejected out of her hand, and is forced to the floor.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as the Blue Lion soldiers let out a raucous cheer. In front of him, the Black Eagles grimace, before raising their weapons and charging back into combat, as if the two of them hadn’t even been fighting.

He walks over towards Edelgard, watching as the girl heaves on the ground, trying to draw breath into her lungs. She’s out of the competition, the ‘wound’ she’s taken more than enough to put her out of a real battle.

“What is it you want, El?” He asks as he approaches. “What is it you’re after, really? I can help you; you don’t need to do something like… this.”

The girl sees him approach, eyeing him warily as he finishes speaking, and she barely manages to push herself off of the ground at all as he arrives beside her. She’s still winded, he can tell, but he’s not going to let her stay that way.

He offers out a hand.

“Please. Tell me.”

Edelgard says nothing as she stares at his outstretched hand. Instead, she turns her head towards the floor.

“And if I said I wanted the destruction of the way the world is? If I said I wanted a change so great, that the Church would have me labeled a heretic?”

He gulps down on both bile and fear.

“Then… then I’d support you. It’s clear that the current system of going about things is wrong, but… but we still need to change those systems in a way that doesn’t result in people getting hurt.”

“And if that’s not an option?”

He breathes heavily, trying to ignore the tightening of his chest, the way his hand shakes.

“I…”

“You can’t turn me away from my path, Dimitri.”

“And why are you so set on it?”

Edelgard sits up, scoffing at him.

“There’s not a chance in hell you’d understand. I’m not blaming you for that, but I _am_ asking you to stop trying to ‘ _save_ ’ me.”

“And why would I stop?”

“Why would you bother continuing? If I don’t want your help, don’t need it, then why do you insist on-”

“Because I care about you!” Dimitri finds fire in his breast as he pushes through the girl’s words, silencing her for the first time. “Because you’re my friend, El. Because I trust and respect you. Do I need any other reason to want to believe in you?”

Edelgard’s mouth opens and closes, and for a moment, Dimitri fears she will simply refute him, swear he’s wrong. Instead she hangs her head, shaking it back and forth in apparent disbelief.

“I cannot tell you. It is not a matter of wants or… or of belief. If I were to, not only I, but you would lose your life as well.”

Ice shoots through him at the words.

“I wouldn’t let them! I’d protect you!”

She lets out a small, bitter chuckle, and his chest constricts at the utter brokenness of that sound.

“You… you’re such a…”

He feels child is the word on her lips, or perhaps fool. Or perhaps it is something far ruder… or kinder instead.

Dimitri reaches out closer to her absentmindedly, and Edelgard catches the motion out of the corner of her eye, looking up at his hand with an absent gaze. She takes a deep, rasping breath as she reaches her own hand out, and it hovers in the air before his own for a good five seconds before she speaks again.

“I want… so badly to take your hand…” She finally meets his gaze once more, and the look in her eyes is one of strangled hope, of desperately wanting to imagine. “If… If I do… will you stand by me? Will you truly help me to carve out the world that I dream of…?”

 _“The group playing the world from the shadows,”_ He can hear Professor Byleth’s voice in his head, her tone impossibly calm for the discussion they’d been having. _“…You’re… involved with them somehow, aren’t you?”_

“I… I will do the very best that I can.”

Edelgard releases a breath, and he knows there’s disappointment there. A harsh, melancholy frustration that she swallows a moment later. When she looks back up at him, it is with a sad, resigned smile, and he can tell, somewhere in her heart, she’s made a decision one way or another.

“That’s…”

She reaches out and takes his hand. It’s a motion that should mean nothing, but Dimitri finds solace in the warmth of her palm on his. It is a sign, at least, that their friendship, the bond they’ve forged, is not meaningless.

“I suppose from you that’s…”

She looks up into his eyes, and he’s unsure of whether or not she is to laugh or cry or scream or rage. Her face is one filled so filled with emotion, that it is, almost paradoxically, devoid of it.

“All I could ask.”

\-----

She knocks aside two foot-soldiers as she makes her way towards Claude. He fires a few blunted arrows at her, which she deflects without much difficulty. He’s not fully drawing the string, making it look like he’s trying to fend her off. In reality, he’s allowing her to gain ground, allowing her to reach him.

She doesn’t know why such a thing is so suspicious, only that it is.

She reaches him as she parries one final arrow, and steps into his guard. They both know she could strike him down here, after all, she’s managed to close the distance between an archer and a swordsman. Even with Claude’s near prodigious skills and strategy on the battlefield, there’s no way he can shake her.

Unless she wants him to.

“So…” She allows him to put some distance between them, feigning missing an attack. “you wanted to talk. Shoot.”

“Oh?” Claude raises an eyebrow as he backs away from her lazy hit, firing an arrow without even pulling his string to half-tension. She bats it aside casually. “I wasn’t aware I said anything. You sure you’re not reading into things, Professor?”

On a normal day, she might appreciate the joking tone.

“Cut the crap, Claude.” She narrows her eyes at him, trying to convey her seriousness. “Tell me what you want. Why’ve you been avoiding me these last four months?”

“Eh…” Claude half-heartedly brings his bow up to block a half-hearted strike from her. “I guess it’s… well, it probably started…”

Suddenly, she feels a welt growing in her chest, directly over where her heart would be. Her opponent had brought his bow down and drawn it so quickly, she’d not had the time to react.

“When I overheard yours and Dimitri’s little chat with our resident Empress.”

Her eyes widen, and she swears internally as she’s forced to deflect two full power shots from Claude’s bow. Her arms wince at the speed required, but she pushes onwards, closing the distance between them and knocking the next arrow out of his bow before he can fire it, snapping the string with another calculated swing.

“Whooh!” Claude lets out a sound of surprise, placing his hands in the air in surrender as he bows to her. “Man, you’re pretty good, Prof. So, you curious what I thought about it?”

“Wouldn’t be much sense denying that, would there be?”

“Nah, not really.” Claude winks at her. “So, there I was, wondering where Edelgard had gone for the day. She disappeared around… eleven o’clock I want to say? Maybe earlier? She totally missed Manuela’s lessons. Anyways, I decide ‘Claude, you’ve gotta’ be the one to give her that sheet of homework, it’s your duty as a gentleman!’,” He turns to her, “You get me, right?”

She shoots him an unimpressed glare.

“Right, sorry, back on track.” He sighs, as if lamenting how lame she is. “I find her sneaking off at some ungodly hour… or, well, I say ungodly. It was like 10… maybe later than that. Basically, I follow her to give her the paper, and then sit close by and listen in on what she’s gotta’ say for herself. Figured it was just a standard detention for skipping, y’know.”

“Why stalk and eavesdrop on her if you were only planning on giving her her homework?”

“…Would you believe me if I said ‘Curiosity’?”

“No.”

“Eh, worth a shot.” He smiles. “Truth is, I was suspicious. Edelgard wasn’t the only one missing. The edgy one, Hubert, he was gone too. He’s pretty much her chaperone, so I thought she must’ve done it with his assistance. But tell me, Professor, how likely are you to take ‘assistance’ with you out into town?”

“In the case of Hubert?” She raises an eyebrow. “Quite likely.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Claude nods his head to her, effectively conceding the point. “Okay, fine, fine, we’re off topic. Basically, it just felt like more to me, the timing of it was too convenient, and it would be suspicious for her to skip anyways, let alone take her retainer with her. So, when I found her wandering around after hours, I followed. Led me to your room, and I heard everything.”

She nods, gripping her sword a bit tighter in her hands.

“And what I heard shocked me. I mean, I knew about those guys already, have enough trouble with them mucking up affairs in the alliance.” The man shrugs his shoulders, as if the thought of a shadow organization secretly meddling in world affairs isn’t something to be concerned about. “But to heard old Eddie was a part of ‘em? That was a pretty big deal. But what was perhaps an even bigger deal…”

Claude looks up at her, and she can see the intelligence, the raw, untapped potential within him burning. With experience, he will be the most frightening man on the continent, and right now, she can see that same potential playing on his face.

“Was that my ‘Professor’ knew of them too.”

She narrows her eyes as Claude begins circling her, his hands still in the air, still indicating his surrender.

Funnily enough, she doesn’t believe them.

“Which is funny, given that you all hail from outside the main countries, traveling to and fro. You’d have no reason to ever get involved with them, and yet you claimed you’d known them, run into them in the past. What was it… a ‘woman with a bit of a chip on her shoulder’, right?”

She has to remind herself that Claude is an ally, because the look he’s sending her right now is reminiscent of the ones he sends her when she takes Edelgard’s side.

“And if I were a betting man, I’d say that also has something to do with your little church connection. Rhea simply fawns over you, and your father… well, there’re tales of a Jeralt going back far, far longer than there should be. Tales of him on the battlefield from nearly a century ago if you go digging hard enough for them. Hell, you might even find a few in the school’s library.”

 _“So…”_ Sothis speaks to her, offering a comforting presence when she needs her most. _“That’s what he’s been doing all this time. Researching you.”_

“So, allow me to pose you a question, teach.” He looks up into her eyes, any semblance of humor gone. “Just what are you?”

She takes a deep, calming breath as she looks into Claude’s eyes, their gazes warring with one another as they try to make each other back down. Neither does.

“Not sure what you mean, Claude.” She lies expertly. “I’m just a particularly skilled mercenary.”

He stares at her hard for another few seconds, and for just a moment, she thinks he’ll strike, draw an arrow, and take this to combat. He’d be a fool to, however. This is a mock battle, after all, with hundreds of soldiers watching him.

He’d not get away with something like that here.

Instead, he laughs. It is a harsh sound, one that sounds almost disbelieving.

“I – hah – I can’t believe you have me _buying_ that!” He shouts as he looks up at her once again, mirth dancing across his face. “You actually make me want to believe that. Your face shows no signs of deception. Your eyes are focused. Your lips don’t quiver. You don’t even sweat abnormally!”

“It’s no lie.”

“But it is.” Claude laughs, looking down at the bow in his hand and running his finger along the wood. “It is, and I know it is.” He sighs, before shaking his head and looking beyond her. “Still, sure, whatever. I’ll pretend I believe you for now. You’re not all I wanted to talk about.”

He inclines his head, silently urging her to turn around. She follows his lead and sees a duel between Edelgard and Dimitri. It’s progressing well, with her student having the upper hand. They’re both wielding spears, but Dimitri does a particularly nice move where he dashes into her the moment she blinks, and in her panic, she brings her spear up into an axe-stance.

_“Ah, that’s that.”_

He capitalizes nicely on the exchange. Knocking her to the ground with a single thrust that blows the wind out of her. The cheers that erupt from the Blue Lion’s soldiers at their King’s victory are raucous and wild, and she shakes her head in some small semblance of amusement as they’re fired up, stepping into the Black Eagles’ forces with renewed vigor.

“Your guy’s not bad.” Claude speaks simply, stepping towards her and smiling over at her. “If you don’t mind, though, could you look up at the tree line… right there.”

He points to a particular spot, which she idly notes would make for a decent sniper’s nest. It’s nothing much, but–

She notices a small glint in the afternoon sunlight.

Someone is sitting there.

“You probably can’t see him that well from here.” Claude laughs awfully casually, and it’s her first hint that something’s wrong. “But that just happens to be the… let’s call him the royal assassin of House Riegan. One of the very best in the business.”

Her blood runs cold.

 _“Aw, shit…”_ Sothis mutters quietly in her head.

“I brought him in today for a simple job.” He turns to look at Byleth and tilts his head as she looks to him. She can tell she must look… disturbed. “Ah, figured it out, have you?”

“You can’t possibly think you’d get away with that…”

“Get away with it… eh.” Claude shrugs his shoulders. “Pretty sure I would. After all, the person I’m after is about as far from innocent as you can get. Besides, we’re in an active warzone, or, at least, a simulation of one. Is it so hard to imagine that a stray arrow would get mixed in with the blunted ones?”

She watches as he holds his hand in the air, and the man in the distance, who she can only barely make out, shifts slightly. If she’s correct, he’s waiting for Claude to bring his hand down before he fires.

“Sorry to say, but I’m not quite as trusting as you or Dimitri. I see a potential threat to my House, and to the Alliance, perhaps even to all of Fódlan. And here, I see an opportunity to end it swiftly. Why shouldn’t I take it?” He looks over at her, his hand still poised to drop at any moment. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t have Edelgard killed right here and now.”

_“What’s the plan?”_

Sothis looks towards her, and though she spots that out of the corner of her eye, she can’t afford to look away from Edelgard and Dimitri, can’t afford to take her eyes off of them.

Because this isn’t an easy answer. This isn’t something she can pulse to deal with.

She can go back a day, sometimes a bit past that if she’s willing to push herself, but anything further than that requires a full reset. Restarting everything from moment one, back to the tent, back to the first days…

But this is a problem from months ago. She hadn’t caught it then, and she swears mentally as she realizes the fool she’s been.

 _“There’s nothing either of us could’ve done.”_ Sothis assures her, trying to calm her down. _“By the time we even noticed Claude was up to something, it’d been a week or two since we talked with Edelgard and Dimitri.”_

She knows the girl’s right, which is just about the only thing stopping her from walking over and wringing Claude’s neck. Oh, she won’t actually, but the fantasy helps to ground her, keep her in the here and now.

She pales slightly as Dimitri walks over towards Edelgard, the motion oddly familiar to her, and extends his hand out to her.

Thousands of times Byleth has seen this event play out, and thousands of times it has gone the same way. An offered hand, a desire of peace. To share the path upon which they walk. An answered dagger, a declaration that there can be no such thing. That the moment their paths cross, only one can ever reach their destination.

She sees them exchange words, sees them try and come to some conclusion. There is no dagger here, and there is no Areadbhar to cut down into the woman’s flesh. Even still… Byleth feels it could devolve into something of such a nature at any moment.

She wonders, sometimes, if she should simply give up. Why she does this… why she continues to struggle and die and bleed and burn and then… do it again. All of it in some vain hope that she’ll perfect it, she’ll finally end this endless scheme…

But it is moment’s like the one happening before her, moments like when Edelgard reaches out her hand, and grasps Dimitri’s in her own, allowing the boy to haul her to her feet. It is moments like when they smile at one another, a small, sad smile that the both of them seem to think can never truly be complete…

It is moments like this that make it all worthwhile.

“I’m sorry, Claude.” She smiles over at the boy and sees his brow furrow at what he knows won’t be a terribly satisfying answer. “I’m afraid the only reason I can give you is… because I trust in her. No. Not just her.”

She looks over at the two of them and sees the battle winding down. If Claude is to strike, and still blame such a thing on an accident, he will have to do so soon. Even still, those two aren’t worried about any oncoming attacks.

Besides, if such a thing happens, Dimitri will stand in the way.

“I believe in the both of them. I believe in their ideals and dreams, and I’ve dedicated myself to seeing them through to the end.” She looks to him and raises an eyebrow in mock challenge. “Besides. If you tried to kill her, I wouldn’t even need Dimitri. I’d stop you myself.”

Claude seems to consider that for a moment. He’s not smiling, but his face looks like it’s caught between a smile and a frown, his twin attitudes warring with one another.

“And what makes you think you could stop me?” He asks, waving his hand a bit, as if taunting her with the fact that he could lower it at any moment. “What makes you think you could stop my assassin before my hand fell?”

“I’m awfully confident.” Byleth says, shooting the man a sure-of-herself smirk, her will grabbing hold of a pulse and preparing to use it. “If you’d like to test that, then feel free.”

“Oh, would you kill me, Professor?”

“No.”

That, at least, seems to confuse the boy in front of her, because he goes slightly slack. He searches her for any sign of deception, but this time, a smile actually breaks through his veneer, and he begins to laugh.

It is a tremendous and wonderous thing, and it is something she’s heard so very rarely in her lives. Claude hides behind appearances more often than almost any other student at the monastery. Getting him to laugh, truly laugh, is a most difficult thing indeed.

“You… I actually believe you.” He wipes a tear from one eye. “I’m not sure why, but I don’t think you’re a threat to my life. How odd.” His face stiffens slightly, before, a second later, he laughs, a fake one this time, letting his hand fall to his side and walking over to Byleth, patting her on the shoulder with the offending article. “Alright, alright, you caught me.”

_“Huh?”_

“I was just kidding!” He laughs, and walks by Byleth ever-so-slightly, making her turn on a dime to follow him. “Honestly, did you really believe all of that stuff about killing Edelgard? Me?” He laughs again, and Byleth can only manage confusion as he steps past her, walking towards where the Golden deer remnants are. “Sheesh, ye’ of little faith. Alright, I’ve got a battle to lose. Jeez, Professor, couldn’t have taken it easy on us?”

“Claude… what are you-”

“Don’t worry about it, Professor.” He peers back, and winks at her. “I don’t think Edelgard’ll be facing any immediate threats on the Homefront.”

He laughs as he struts away, waving a hand from behind as he departs. Alone with her thoughts, she instead looks towards where the flash from before had come from, where the assassin had been stationed.

There is no one now.

 _“Was he telling the truth?”_ She asks Sothis, unable to read the man’s final words. _“Would he really not have done it?”_

 _“He would’ve.”_ Sothis assures her, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she stares at Claude’s retreating back. _“I can tell… When he said he wouldn’t have done it…?”_

She swallows the bile threatening to work its way up her esophagus.

_“He was lying.”_

\-----

The battle ends in their favor, and without incident. She isn’t sure what to say, but the ribbing she’s able to give Manuela and Hanneman at least helps her avoid thinking about some of what happened earlier.

But she still doesn’t feel great come the end of the day when she and Sothis hunker down and take a few hours to themselves. It’s a quiet night, and she appreciates her patron Goddess’ presence. They whisper sweet nothings to one another in the dark, and it’s a cozy enough atmosphere to make her briefly forget the day’s occurrences.

Claude makes no moves towards Edelgard in the next few days, and as the weeks crest onwards, she begins to suspect he’s been at the very least genuine about giving up his pursuit. Not like she can do anything about it at this point, other than use pulses and hope.

The news of Remire is almost a welcome distraction, though, upon arriving, she curses herself for such crass words. The town has been brutalized, and she knows by who as well. Solon stands off a way’s away in his Tomas costume, and even though she’s never met the real man, she’s decided posthumously that she doesn’t like him.

That’s probably a bit petty, but if he wanted to be liked, he shouldn’t have gotten his body snatched away by an evil group of ancient assholes.

Jeralt has accompanied them, and while she’s normally happy to see her father, she’s less than thrilled about the scenario in which he’s forced to do so. He’s pledged to hold off the… for lack of a better term ‘zombified’ villagers, while the rest of them do their best to rescue as many of the right-minded ones as they can.

Even still, she watches as Dimitri’s eyes widen, and the bloodlust sets in. The figure he will become in five years’ time blazes across the battlefield, and they make quick work of the enemies forces. Felix’s face is one of strained annoyance, but she can tell there’s a very real worry and fear beneath that.

Perhaps more at the thought of losing the one he’d once considered his friend more than anything.

They rescue the last remaining villagers, and the Death Knight appears. Solon reveals himself, and the game is truly afoot. It’s not a particularly difficult battle, given that the majority of the enemies forces have already been eliminated, but with Dimitri flying off and disobeying orders, she has to cover for him.

Luckily, he’s frighteningly strong like this, and doesn’t go down even when flanked by five enemies. He takes a few wounds, but Mercedes is barely able to patch them together before he’s off and running, ignoring their help in favor of taking down Solon.

But the arrival of another stops him in his tracks.

The Flame Emperor.

She stands before him and parries his first strike on her axe, before managing a deft dodge despite her hefty armor. It is enough, at least, to minorly shake the haze from the Blue King’s eyes, and he looks up at her in raging shock.

“You… You did this!?”

“No, I-” Edelgard seems to want to say something, but her voice wavers, and she looks towards Solon, who stands there expectantly. “I’m…”

It’s Byleth’s Sword of the Creator that strikes out, but not at her. Instead, it is aimed at the lone member of Those Who Slither, and the big-headed man is forced to retreat backwards, cursing her as the ‘Fell-Star’.

“We are done here!” Solon shouts and turns away, before beginning to channel a teleportation ability. “We will depart, we have everything we needed from-”

“And just what exactly did you need!”

Byleth is surprised to find the voice hasn’t come from one of her own, but instead from the warbling metal mask of the Flame Emperor.

And she sounds mad.

Solon regards her with an expression that almost screams he’s annoyed, but he speaks anyways.

“The villagers themselves, obviously. What we've learned here will do us well in the months and years to come.”

He gives one last glancing look towards her, mutters about the ‘Fell-Star’ once more and departs.

The Death Knight stays behind with the Flame Emperor, leaving only they and a handful of other dark mages, who, no sooner than she’s finished that though, teleport away themselves. 

Now it is only they, and a broken town full of enemies.

“I… I had no idea about this…” Edelgard turns towards Dimitri, and even with the mask over her face, Byleth can hear the sincerity in her words. “I implore you to believe me. I would never have allowed this… I…”

Byleth knows what she’s thinking; even if she had known, she wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Her position in Those Who Slither is a shaky one, held by her value as an experiment, and the armies they’ll gain when she becomes the Empress. Aside from that, there are many they could threaten to punish her, not the least of which is her father, who’s already getting on in his health.

“And you _expect me_ to believe that!?” Dimitri’s voice comes out as more of a growl, stepping towards Edelgard with an almost animalistic fury. “You didn’t have a hand in killing all these people, just showed up awfully conveniently at the end of it all to wax lyrical!?”

Edelgard takes a deep, steadying breath, even as the other Blue Lions surround her. They’re just waiting for the order to strike, and with how Dimitri’s watching her, they seem to think it will come at any moment.

Byleth feels the same.

She steps forward, preparing to have to get between them, and plotting the excuse she’d need to have to do such a thing, or, more likely, the many pulses she’ll have to waste, before Edelgard speaks up, her voice shaky.

“I have… nothing to do with _them._ ”

The raw vitriol in the final word seems to still the others’ approach, and even Dimitri seems momentarily cowed.

“If I had my way, I’d have slaughtered the likes of them long, _long_ ago.” She looks up into Dimitri’s eyes, the red’s and violets of her fake pupils catching and reflecting the dancing flames around them. “They are the worst kinds of scum imaginable. If I did not need them, then you can trust I would be the first in line to brandish my axe and cut their foolish heads from their spines!”

_“…Daaayum.”_ Sothis leans away from Edelgard. _“I mean, I agree, but damn.”_

 _“Mm.”_ Byleth nods.

“Trust me, young king, I will do my very best to ensure that today’s events do not repeat themselves.” Edelgard turns, and Jeritza, still clad in his armor and atop his horse, follows. “For however little it matters, you have my word.”

And with that, the two teleport away.

The silence in the clearing is, ironically, deafening.

“So… is she an ally?” Mercedes is the first to speak up, a bit nervously, almost. “She didn’t seem to be on their side.”

“They didn’t really seem to be on ours, either.” Sylvain frowns. “Dimitri, I know we let you dodge the question last time, but-”

“I still can’t tell you.”

Byleth’s eyes narrow as everyone else shoots Dimitri a withering look. It’s right on the edge of actual anger, hovering around annoyance. They are subdued, partially, however, by how exhausted their king looks, his ‘transformation’ ending.

“Can you at least say…” Annette’s voice is quivering, unsure. “Whether or not they’re our enemy?”

“Sh–They,” Dimitri tries to correct, but they’ve certainly all caught his small slip of the tongue, as has he, if the tiny curse he lets out under his breath is any indication. “They are not our enemy…”

He looks over to the last spot Edelgard had occupied. Below it, left almost inconspicuously, is a lone, ornate dagger.

Dimitri walks over to it as Byleth reigns in her gasp. His steps are calculated, careful, like he’s worried about breaking something beneath his heel.

He stoops low and picks the dagger up by its edge. His gaze lingers on it for a short period of time, his face reflected in it. For Byleth, and for Dimitri as well, she assumes, time seems to almost stop as she observes it. Without any real ceremony, the future king slides it silently into a pocket in his armor.

“But I am unsure if I would call them an ally, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, at least I got this one out on time.
> 
> Been speeding up my writing recently, which has been weird, since I didn't even really mean to. Between this and another fic I update on FF.net, It's been busying, but also weirdly fulfilling to write this much.
> 
> Alright, that's all from me. Next chapter should be in around two weeks. Maybe (hopefully) less.


	6. My Gift to You

_“Can I ask you a question?”_

_They slinked along a barren, snowy field, barely making any progress as a blizzard began to set in. They'd left a trail through the snow going back miles, and even if he wasn't terribly concerned about being followed, it also didn't spell great things for their chances of finding a town or village any time soon._

_And out here, on their own, he knew they had minutes at best._

_“Sure… depends on the question if I’ll answer it though.”_

_He heard his companion bark out a laugh._

_“Cheeky bastard… fine, I’ll – Shit!”_

_A snow drift had given out beneath them. For a moment, all he saw was white, and then he was being consumed in the cold ice of winter._

_He’d freeze to death soon. He knew that without a fraction of a doubt. Really, he shouldn’t have been this worried, this fearful._

_It was a foregone conclusion._

_And yet, when a pair of hands reached into the snowbank, his own rose up to meet them. He shouldn’t have been able to, and yet with some freakish show of strength, he’d managed to help her pull him out._

_Perhaps it was that he was at his end, but his body was working on overdrive._

_“Fucking white garbage…” The girl before him didn’t shiver, didn’t so much as shake as she stepped through the icy cold. “Sorry I – wait, you’re…”_

_“Dying?” He looked up at her, and he could tell by the expression on her face that she’d seen the writing on the wall, or perhaps, more accurately, the shade of his skin, how deathly pale he was. “I’m afraid so.”_

_“No… no, no, no, no!” The girl hauled him to his feet, forcing herself forward with a renewed vigor. “You don’t – I refuse to let you die! You think you get to go onto the next life when I still owe you one?”_

_“You don’t owe me a thing.” He smiled over at her. “Besides, I don’t know if you’ve got much of a choice.”_

_“Always with the last laugh, too.” The girl walking alongside him hissed. “You’ve any idea how endlessly annoying that is? I’m trying to be concerned about you!”_

_“And I’m trying to make you less concerned about-”_

_“Shut up!”_

_The panic in the girl’s voice, the first time he’d heard anything of the sort from her, had his own dying in his throat. He hadn’t truly realized how utterly desolate the expression on her face was until now._

_“I… I don’t **want** to be less concerned about you!”_

_His eyes widened, and his heart tightened, even as he could feel its beats slow._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“You’d damn well better be!” The girl shifted him slightly along her shoulder, getting better purchase as they charged towards… something. “Now hang on… there’s smoke off in the distance. It’s probably a battle-”_

_“Hey…”_

_“But if we’re lucky, it could be a small cottage…”_

_“You… you can’t-”_

_“We can just kill the owner and steal it for ourselves… or, well, I suppose you’d have us **ask** if we could stay there. Gods, you’re insufferable sometimes.”_

_“I’m not going to last that-”_

_“SHUT UP!” The girl rounded on him, rage and pain and a thousand other little things dancing in her eyes. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Be quiet damn it, I can fix this!”_

_“You can’t…” He smiled up at her, trying to convey that he didn’t blame her for this in the slightest. “I’m… I’m dying.”_

_He didn’t think the girl could cry, but if she were ever going to, he imagined it’d be now. Perhaps her tears would’ve frozen mid-air, cracking as they hit the ground beneath them, shattering and blown away by the harsh winds._

_“Damn it…” They finally stopped moving, which was a blessing for his aching side, which, while no longer oozing blood, still burned in agony. “Damn it!”_

_Guilt poured through him as he reached over and put a hand on his companions shoulder._

_“Hey… sit with me?”_

_The girl beside him looked over at him sadly, her normally bright red eyes appearing almost dull, before staring down at the snow beneath them and nodding. They sat slowly, doing their best not to aggravate their various wounds._

_“So… you wanted to ask me a question earlier?”_

_“Before I sent us tumbling into eight feet of ice and snow?” The girl looked at him, before shaking her head. “Yeah, I did.”_

_He waited for a moment._

_“You… you’re like **them** , aren’t you?”_

_The question caught him off guard, and he gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. He found the energy in his body gradually growing weaker, and laid back, resting against the snow they’d knocked down._

_“Them?” His voice was so terribly quiet._

_“Like…” She shook her head, but, seemingly a moment later, worked up the nerve. “Like Seiros, and Cichol, and Cethleann… you might not be exactly like them, but… you’re immortal, aren’t you?”_

_He found himself smiling._

_“Not quite… in the way you’re expecting, but… yeah.”_

_How many lifetimes had it been? How many hundreds, or perhaps even thousands of times had he died and come back, and even still, this was the first time anyone had ever figured it out without him telling them._

_“Then… would you mind telling me?” The girl scooted closer to him, their bodies touching in the cold snow, the only warmth he could feel. “I’d… you’re…” He could feel her shake her head as she pushed it into his left arm. “N-never mind, I-”_

_“No.” He smiled over at her, even if the ‘picture’ he was receiving from his eyes was blurry, almost foreign now. “I… I’ve never told anyone before,” He found himself leaning into her as well. “So…”_

_“I think I’d like to tell you.”_

\-----

Byleth’s eyes snap open.

She shivers slightly as she feels the cold of that life wear away, the warmth of her bed replacing it. Sothis places a supportive hand on her shoulder, which is enough for her to settle down slightly. It reminds her of the tiny heat the girl from back then had provided.

The dream is one she has almost every lifetime. A memory of an event that had transpired… millennia ago now.

A memory of the only person to ever uncover her secret of their own accord.

She shakes her head. She’s got a month before she has to deal with anything major, and so she instead gets herself dressed and ready, and heads off into the monastery.

Going about and helping her students is always a good time for Byleth, especially when she can flex some of her six-thousand-year knowledge.

Dedue calls her in first, and she heads out to Duscur to help quell the rebellion peacefully before it can be quelled _less peacefully._ They succeed within two hours, only losing a few soldiers that she’s discovered over the years are simply too far away to be saved.

She appreciates Dedue’s words of thanks, even if she has no desire to hear them. The boy has done enough for her that he will never owe her a damned thing, much like the rest of her students. Helping them out every couple years… it’s a small price to pay.

A week or so passes, and Marianne is the next, coming to her and asking, rather tentatively, if she can join her house. She of course says yes, and invites the girl in. She’ll not be going on very many missions, because, in truth, she doesn’t want to steal the girl away from Hanneman and the Golden Deer entirely, who she knows are quite a good teacher and class respectively, but she’ll offer enough of a shoulder to keep the girl happy.

Her class is a boon here, though, for they accept the girl with nary a complaint. Byleth imagines it can’t be easy to leave one’s class, even if they think they’ll learn more, or be more supported, outside of it.

She also goes about talking with the other teachers, and some of the staff. They all give her their word to go out on missions with her occasionally, which she accepts. It’s not something she really _has_ to do right now, but she has a free day, and figures ‘why not?’. She grabs Cyril as well while she’s at it.

On the horizon, though, is another event, one a bit more difficult to deal with than those others. She in fact passes by the girl most related to it in the hallways on her way to lessons.

 _“Kronya.”_ She remarks to Sothis as she gives the red-headed girl in disguise a small wave.

She receives one in return, ‘Monica’ looking all too pleased to be receiving a greeting from her.

 _“What’s the plan with her?”_ Sothis asks as she appears beside her, walking along the stone tile.

She scratches her chin, a bit perplexed at being put on the spot. _“Not quite sure… but I was thinking we could try **that** again.”_

 _“Ugh,”_ Sothis moans out, evidently doubtful. _“You do realize that was a one-time thing, right? We’ve got no idea why it worked, and we’ve never been able to replicate it.”_

 _“Sure.”_ She admits with the slightest hint of defiance. _“But I’m not willing to just give up like that. You know me by now. Besides, I was told she’d want this.”_

Sothis looks to want to protest, before sighing.

 _“Fine, fine.”_ She sighs annoyedly. _“You’re such a softy.”_

_“Pretty sure that’s why you love me.”_

_“You annoy me.”_

_“Love you too.”_ She finds a teasing expression on her face. _“Besides, I’m not to have anyone to dance with in a few days, the least you could do is be kind to me now!”_

Sothis disappears with a roll of her eyes, and Byleth is left with only her laughter as accompaniment

\-----

On the night before the ball, Byleth sneaks out of her room.

She steps along the stone floors of the Monastery silently, making sure to avoid making noise as the moon hangs overhead, casting an eerie glow along the dormitory as she makes her way around it.

She’s making her way to a very specific room, and she has to be quick about it.

She knows the guards patrols from having done this before, but even still, she gives them a round just to confirm them. She needn’t do such a thing, but she doesn’t want to have to blow a pulse on something so asinine.

Especially when she might need it later.

When she finally gets her opening, she dashes across the courtyard. The guard patrols inside the Monastery, especially the ones on the bottom floors, aren’t expecting anything. They believe that the guards on the outside will handle any trouble, and that any problems that get to them will only be a thief or an assassin, someone easily dispatched in a straight fight.

Well, she doesn’t burst their bubble. A thief or an assassin isn’t the type to be spotted, and even if they are, she has a feeling they’d be more than formidable in single combat. Then again, the guards aren’t trained to engage as a first measure, but to call for aid.

 _“Doesn’t really matter.”_ Sothis shrugs. _“Not like we’re here for them.”_

And that’s the truth of the matter. She grabs onto a wooden pole on the outside of the dormitories, and, seeing no one, vaults up it. She does this outside Linhardt’s room, trusting him alone to never wake up when he’s sleeping.

She manages to make it to the second floor, and sidles along the wall to avoid being seen by those below. She’s more exposed than ever up here, but she hopes the small overhang below will mask her presence while she makes her way to her targets room.

She makes it to the fourth room on the second floor and first tests the window. Of course, it’s locked, because both inhabitants of this room are _far_ too paranoid not to have locked it.

She can’t really blame them, though, since their paranoia would normally have paid off right about now. Few people are as quiet as her.

The window pops open with a near-silent click, but it’s still enough to have her want to pulse immediately. She holds off, largely because unless her target wakes up, she has no reason to.

The silver-haired inhabitant of the room is sleeping peacefully, or, well, as peacefully as someone like she can. Byleth imagines she’s likely plagued by nightmares, but that’s not for her to help with, unfortunately, at least not tonight.

The other inhabitant sleeps like a babe, likely expecting nothing to ruin her ever-so-perfect plan.

She steps over to their shared dresser and reaches into the bottom compartment. From there, she pushes up on a hidden flap, and unveils the object she’d come here to find.

She finishes her work within ten minutes, and she’s gone, not a scrap of evidence left behind she’d even been there.

\-----

The dance is… well, it’s boring.

She doesn’t say that, but aside from entering in Felix as their representative only to piss him off (and because he’s shockingly good at it), there’s not much else to do regarding it. She attends, and she dances, and she and Sothis lament the fact that the Goddess does not possess a body.

She has a feeling Sothis would be a shitty dancer, much to the girl’s irritated denials.

Dancing is also one of the few hobbies that might have some use to her that she’s put very little time into. Not because she doesn’t think it’d be helpful to have…

But because she’s not very good at it.

Much like painting and drawing, the field of dance is one unknown to her. Sothis laughs at that, likely seeking some revenge for her earlier comment, but when Byleth points out that she’s basically a vessel made for Sothis’ placement, she gets slightly less smug.

Because that probably means Sothis would suck just as much, at best.

Still, she takes a few students to the floor, and does her best not to embarrass herself. She hisses at some others who find it amusing that such a talented and powerful woman such as her would have absolutely no coordination on the dance floor.

 _“I hate when people call fighting a dance!”_ She spells out one of her personal pet peeves to Sothis. _“I mean, sure, it can **look** like one, but it’s not at all! Dancing is all… scripted, it’s… it’s horrible!”_

“Uhm, Professor?”

She looks up into Dimitri’s confused face, and sighs as he smirks slightly at her obvious dismay.

“Not you too.”

“Well, it’s just…” He snickers quietly. “S-sorry, it’s simply refreshing to see that even _you_ can struggle at something. Especially when fighting and dancing are as similar as they are.”

She tells him her disagreements with his statement and receives only a curt laugh in return.

“Actually, my… ‘teacher’ told me that once you’re comfortable enough with your partner, a dance can quickly become a matter of improvisation, much like a battle.” Dimitri smiles at her, and she glares back. “Don’t take it so personally, Professor! I’m only teasing you.”

“I’m doing my best.” She sighs. “That teacher was Edelgard, right?”

He blanches for a moment, before recovering quickly, smiling down at her.

“Indeed. She was… _is_ a force of nature. Demanding at the best of times, tyrannical at the worst. Still… well, I can dance now.”

She laughs unabashedly at the man’s pain and hears Sothis doing the same.

“That’s the best you can say?”

“She is a force of nature.” He repeats with a far-away look, and she laughs again as he releases her. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop hogging you. I can see Claude’s been looking for his chance all evening.”

“Oh, how grand.” She turns to the golden deer’s leader. “And just what would the _illustrious_ Claude von Riegan want with little old me?”

“Hey, I think you’re fairly illustrious, don’t you?” Claude fires back without missing a beat. “I’m going to be the talk of the town after we dance the night away. Believe me, I’m using you for your fame.”

“Most people wouldn’t admit that.”

“I’m not-”

“Most people?” She cocks an eyebrow. “Please, I’ve heard that line a thousand times. _Literally._ You’ll have to try a bit harder than that to catch my attention.”

“Hey, you’re the one who fed it to me!” He complains half-heartedly, never losing his smile. “Besides, I somehow doubt you’re using the word literally correctly there.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Eh, perhaps I would. With your dad being, what, at least a century old, I guess you could very well be older than you look as well.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” He winks. “Dance?”

“Sure…” She sighs out. “Why not?”

They do dance for quite a while, a good twenty or so minutes, which doesn’t seem like it would be a long time, but neither does fighting with a blade for twenty minutes until one tries it. They break away with a small bit of laughter, and she turns to find her final lord before she can slink away.

Instead, she’s greeted by a red-haired figure with her hand stretched out in front of her, a faked look of nervousness hastily splashed across her face.

“M-may I have this dance, Professor?” Monica looks up at her questioningly.

 _“Don’t.”_ Sothis answers for her. _“Not worth whatever the hell she’s on about.”_

 _“Not like I can turn her down and make a big scene, though.”_ She points out. _“I have no reason to be suspicious of her.”_

Sothis opens her mouth to protest, but quickly closes it, waving a hand as if acquiescing to her request.

She reaches down and takes Monica’s hand, a bit surprised when the girl quickly whisks her away onto the dance floor.

“You’re awfully forward.” She probes first with a cautious statement. “Especially with how nervous you were just a second ago.”

“Oh, this?” The girl looks up into her face with a smile so sweet it’s saccharine. “I’m masking my emotions by trying to be brave. Inside I’m _literally_ dying of nerves right now.”

“Someone’s not using the word literally very well.”

“A teacher even here, huh Professor?”

“Not normally.” She explains, finding some small joy in talking to the girl dancing alongside her, even with the knowledge she has. “But it was brought to my attention a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, I see, I see.”

The girl lets their conversation trail off, and Byleth makes no effort to salvage it. They dance rather simply until the end of the song, and despite how terrible she is at this, Monica somehow manages to carry her to the end.

“Y’know, I’d heard you were bad at this, Prof,” The girl laughs as she brings Byleth into a bow, leaning over her. “But wow!”

“I can give you detention for that comment, y’know?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being all alone with you, Professor…”

The girl trails off, leaving her line of thought there rather ambiguous.

Oh, it wouldn’t normally be, her statement’s about as easy to read as someone walking up to her and saying, “I like you!”, but the problem is that this isn’t just someone, it’s Kronya.

“I’m afraid we wouldn’t be.” Byleth says, deciding to ignore the ‘underlying message’ in the girl’s words. “Sylvain’s got detentions with me for the next…” She places a hand on her chin and pretends to think. “Forever.”

Monica actually giggles, and maybe she’s losing it, but she can’t help but think it’s genuine.

“So… you’re ‘afraid’ we wouldn’t be?”

_“Ah shit. I did say that.”_

“I suppose I did say that.”

“Don’t dodge the question now, Professor!” The girl bemoans, spinning her around as the orchestra begins another song. “Please, tell me!”

She shakes her head with a small smile. Whatever it is Kronya’s trying to get out of this, most likely the ability to laugh at her all the harder at a later occasion, she’s not quite willing to play along with it.

“I’m sorry, Monica.” She smiles down at the girl, trying to show she means no offense, even if she _kind of_ does. “I’m afraid I don’t go out with my students. That’s part of why Sylvain’s been in detention so long.”

The girl looks down and away, and her dancing slows. Honestly, Kronya isn’t the best actress the majority of the time, but she’s pretty good at using her own emotions to her advantage.

“Oh, phooey.” The girl mutters, before shaking her head, faking a recovery. “But I heard you slept with Flayn before the year started, though!”

She grinds the both of them to a halt, her face going bright red.

“Y-you heard what!?”

“That’s what some of the other students said!” She reports with a small frown, though Byleth can see the amusement in the girl’s eyes, barely restrained. “They said you walked right up to Seteth and said it! He was furious with you, wasn’t he?”

She shakes her head, flabbergasted.

“When was this?”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t there… I think they said your second day here?”

She recalls back to that time, and…

 _“I think that was when you were describing me.”_ Sothis is actually smiling at her, though Byleth would describe the smile as mocking if anything. _“To think it would spread throughout the whole Monastery.”_

 _“Damn Garreg Mach rumor mill…”_ She mutters mentally.

“Er… that was…”

“Professor,” The girl pouts up at her, and Byleth finds herself cowed at the look in the girl’s eyes, fake or not. “If you don’t want to go out with me, that’s fine, but I’d rather you be honest about it!”

She sighs as she’s put on the spot, and even a few students have stopped to stare, evidently wanting to hear the end of this.

 _“Welp, she’s got you all nice and trapped.”_ Sothis grins at her. _“Say no, and you’re the villain of the hour…”_

_“I just don’t know why she’d want me to say yes is all.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_ Sothis raises an eyebrow. _“This is Kronya. She’s in this to bait you. Honestly, I think she’s trying to get you back to your room, then try and drug you so you’re of less use tomorrow. That, or she might just stab you. Or, of course, she could be entirely genuine. Honestly, with her, that wouldn’t entirely surprise me.”_

_“…I’m annoyed that makes sense.”_

_“Wanna’ see how it goes?”_

_“What, risk getting drugged or stabbed so that I can get see what parts of her really do ‘Go Slither’?”_

_“Eh, one out of three.”_ Sothis shrugs. _“Odds could be worse. We might learn some stuff.”_

_“You’re weird. Didn’t we have a conversation about not dating our students for information, like… a month or two ago?”_

_“She’s not our student.”_

_“Everyone else would **see her** as our student.”_

_“Semantics.”_

_“I fail to see… never mind.”_

She realizes she’s been zoned out for a few seconds, which probably makes it look like she’s seriously thinking about the girl’s offer. She notices a few couples out of the corner of her eye have ended up on the ground, likely watching them instead of their partners, and paying the price for it.

“Alright, Monica.” She says, deciding to joke around a bit herself. “Next week. We can go out into town as _friends._ ”

The girl’s pout grows larger.

“But I wanted to spend time with you tonight…”

_“See, I was right.”_

She ignores the goddess. “Sorry, Monica. I’m not looking for that kind of relationship right now.”

The girl sighs, and they finish the rest of the song by lightly joking around with one another. She’s a bit surprised that she doesn’t quite hate spending time with Kronya, but not too terribly much.

The girl’s a pain in the ass, but…

Well, they’ve got an interesting history.

She doesn’t manage a dance with Edelgard, seeing her exiting the dance a few minutes later with Monica chatting amiably by her side. She’s never quite been sure how well those two get along, or, well, she’s never thought to ask, but she imagines it’s a forced sort of thing for Edelgard.

Kronya, on the other hand, seems like the type to enjoy needling her for her own enjoyment.

She dances with a few more students as a couple more hours go by, namely Sylvain and Marianne. She notices the latter has spent a lot of her evening beside Claude and Hilda, who seem to be encouraging her to break out of her shell. She appreciates that they’re all helping, especially when she sees Marianne give a light and airy laugh as her pink-haired friend spins her around.

She makes her exit from the ball a few minutes later, having spent a good four or five hours there. Dimitri is outside, looking utterly exhausted.

“How was your night?” She asks, curious, because she hadn’t really seen him after she’d danced with him at the start. “Dance with anyone special?”

He looks up at her with a small groan. “I danced with El, actually.”

Her eyes widen.

“Really?”

“Yes, she was…” He shivers slightly. “The exact same with dancing as she was all those years ago.”

She finds herself laughing, despite the eventful evening.

“A real taskmaster?”

“Don’t tease me right now, Professor.” The boy puts his head in his hands. “I don’t have the energy for it. We danced… for two straight hours.”

_“Oh goddess.”_

_“Yeah.”_ Sothis agrees with a wince. _“Oh me.”_

“She wouldn’t let me rest until I got all the steps right… I… I thought I _did_ have the steps right!” He looks up at her, just the tiniest bit of crazed energy in his gaze. “I… Professor if you see her, whatever you do, do _not_ dance with her. With how much you’ve been struggling, I don’t care how strong you are, it will be the end of you.”

She cackles at the boys honest concern, even if he’s losing it a bit.

“I’ll be sure not to, then. I assume you’re heading back to your room?”

“I don’t have the strength at the moment, Professor.” He speaks honestly. “But I’m sure it will come to me soon.”

“Alright…” She finds herself at a loss. “Well, enjoy your evening.”

“Likewise, Professor.” The boy moans.

She and Sothis simply walk for a while, enjoying the calm evening as they snake through the monastery. Byleth had done the sneaking the previous night, which left all the enjoyment to tonight. They won’t be getting any tomorrow, that’s for certain.

Just when she’s about ready to be heading back to their room, Sothis speaks up.

_“Hey, you knew I was joking around earlier with the whole inviting Kronya back to our room thing, right.”_

She smiles up at her patron goddess. _“I knew.”_

 _“Ok, good…”_ Sothis places a hand over her heart, steadying herself despite flying alongside her. _“I didn’t… that is to say-”_

She stops the girl from continuing by taking her hand in her own. The contact is superficial at best, but there’s something there that lets her pull the girl’s hand along.

_“C’mon. I’d like to sit at the top of the Goddess tower with you. Just for a while.”_

_“Oh, someone feeling romantic tonight?”_

_“Consider it my apology for ‘cheating on you’ right in front of your face.”_

_“Most people would get on their knees and beg.”_

_“I’m-”_ Her mouth clicks shut, but too late. _“Crap…”_

_“Not most people?”_

_“Shut up…”_

_“And to think, you got all up in Claude’s business-”_

_“Oh, be quiet!”_

\-----

The news that there’s a commotion just outside the Monastery’s walls comes as a shock to her students.

They awaken and dress in a hurry, preparing themselves quite literally for war. It’s not like they have any idea what awaits them, and, once again, she can’t tell them either.

Even if it’d be much simpler.

They arrive on the outskirts within half an hour, and it’s to see devastation left in the newly formed monsters wake.

She wonders quietly sometimes if she should be more concerned about saving people like these. The students that Those Who Slither have turned into demonic beasts certainly don’t deserve it, and it’s likely all they’d been guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still… she’s never made a concerted effort to rescue any of them.

Does that make her a bad person? She’s not sure if she really cares for the answer.

Trying to save everyone… she’d learned long ago such things are pointless. She focused instead on the students of her classes, and on her colleagues. People like Lonato, Rodrigue, Judith, or Randolph and Fleche… they simply aren’t worth as much to her.

And maybe that’s unfair.

But she’s slaughtered tens, hundreds of thousands of Empire, Alliance, and Kingdom troops in her lifetimes, perhaps millions or tens of millions. She is a horrendous monster to those who would threaten the people she cares about, and she’s never once questioned that. None of them had done wrong. They’d followed their duty and charged into battle, and their opponent had ended them in it.

 _“You shouldn’t worry so much.”_ Sothis brings her attention back to the battle before her, just in time for her to snake around one of the demonic beasts’ slashes and unleash the Sword of the Creator’s specialty, Ruptured Heaven.

The beast is eviscerated by the coils’ advance, flailing backwards in some attempt to live on. She does feel pity, knowing it’s a student under there, but they cannot be cured. Not now, at least. Best to put them out of their misery in as quick a way as possible.

They’d earned that much, at least.

 _“Mm.”_ Sothis seems to agree. _“Do what you can for those that you can, but do not worry about those you cannot save.”_

She nods, agreeing herself.

The battle is short.

It has always been. Even during her first lifetime, the beasts she’d faced hadn’t been overwhelmingly threatening.

They’d been nothing more than a distraction.

She’s the first to arrive at Kronya’s, or ‘Monica’s’ location. Her father is close behind, and as the girl is arisen from her fake sleep (this time actually faking it herself), she looks up at Byleth with a toothy grin.

“Oh, Professor,” She actually seems to be able to force blood to her cheeks. “My hero!”

She nearly snorts but manages to cover it with a mask of feigned annoyance.

“Yes, well, mind telling me how you got out here?”

The girl puts a finger on her chin, thinking rather daintily as the sounds of battle continue around them. She’s a good actress the majority of the time, but the problem really comes in how she has no idea on how to pretend to be a ‘normal’ girl.

“Well, these big scary monsters showed up, and I was out in town trying to buy a new dress for our date next week…” The girl blushes and looks away, and Byleth almost wants to scoff. “So, I couldn’t get back in! I found this hiding spot, and then… well… hid!”

“I can see that.” She lets the girl go, allowing her to stand and brush herself off. “Alright, well, return to the Monastery, but be careful, alright? Wouldn’t want to see anything happen to one of my favorite students.”

“Oooh, I’m one of your favorites, professor?” The girl laughs quietly, standing up and skipping away playfully. “Careful you don’t lead a girl on.”

She rolls her eyes as Monica walks instead towards her father, and she has to hold herself back from moving towards her, from stopping her from doing what she knows she’ll do.

She watches in slow motion as the girl draws a dagger from out of her pantleg, having hid it in such a way that none would see it, and brings it into a reverse grip. She watches as the girl brings it around, and, with a manic smile on her face, stabs it into her father’s back.

She screams, her father falls.

It’s all terribly dramatic.

\-----

A month has passed, and her students are on their way to track down and destroy Those Who Slither before they can become any greater a threat.

She allows Dimitri to lead this mission, telling him she has complete faith in him.

He’s fully capable of this, and honestly, with the amount of time he’s had to learn it, the fact that he’s this good means he’s a more natural leader than Byleth had ever been.

They kill the first waves of soldiers rather easily. They’re mostly here as fodder, trying to shave down their numbers as they charge in recklessly, angrily. What they don’t expect is for Dimitri to take things slow. He whittles down their numbers gradually, without losing a single fighter.

It’s enough to have the TWS commanders confused.

She can see it in the way they look back towards Kronya, evidently asking for some more ideas, but the girl isn’t a tactician. She’s relaying orders from elsewhere, likely Solon’s, but perhaps Thales’ instead. She has no idea how to dictate the flow of battle on her own, and it shows.

Before they can regroup at all, Byleth blitzes into the fold.

She cuts down an innumerable number, slashing and flaying and culling them until none stand before her. She turns, instead, to Kronya, and smiles up at the girl, even as she stares her down, with a frenzied sneer.

“So, little miss orphan finally decides to show up?” The girl puts a finger on her chin, as if trying to recall. “Oh, right, about our date, Professor! I’m sorry I missed it, but I was occupied at the time. I’m sure you’d understand.”

“Oh, of course.” She nods her head, ceding the point to the confusion of her adversary. “You were being hunted by half the church’s forces; I can understand why you wouldn’t be able to make it back to town.”

Kronya frowns, her eyebrows drawn down as she tries to work out what’s going on here.

“You’re awfully positive.”

“I’ve no reason not to be.” She tilts her head. “Why, did something happen?”

Kronya looks stunned.

“Your father?” She asks with a small shake of her head. “I… killed him? Not ringing any bells in that empty fucking head of yours?”

She repeats Kronya’s own motion, placing her finger daintily on her chin, making a small humming noise.

“Oh!” She looks over at her, pointing her finger at her with a smug smile. “You mean Jeralt, right?”

“Yes!” Kronya practically screams.

“Well… I don’t mean to disappoint you, but Jeralt is up and back to doing missions for the church.” She watches with some enjoyment as the girl’s face goes white. “I think he was up around… a day after he got stabbed?”

“WHAT!?” Kronya screams, and the sound is more than a little satisfying. “What the fu – You’re lying! I stabbed him with Athame! There’s no damned way he survived my weapon’s enchantment! It was made specifically to kill those like him!”

“No… I don’t think it was enchanted…” She tries her best to adopt a bewildered expression.

“At least, it wasn’t when you stabbed my father.”

\-----

She cradles Jeralt in her arms as Kronya and Thales warp away.

She cries over him, letting her tears fall on his body, even as he moves his hand up to wipe them away.

“Why…. why did this have to happen?”

“Uhm… Byleth?”

“Why must the good die so young!”

“I’m over a century old, you know…”

“So young!”

“You do realize I’m going to be fine, right?” Her father looks up at her “It was just a dagger… honestly, I’ll be up and moving by tomorrow if your healer can get over here quick enough.”

“Oh, I know. But I have to sell it.”

“Wha-”

“And I need you to sell it too.” She looks down at him. “Pretend to pass out or something.”

“Why would I-”

“Just do it!”

“…Fine…” Jeralt lays on his back, closes his eyes, gives a small sigh, and lets his tongue roll out of his mouth in what even a three-year-old playing ‘knight’ would’ve called a bad impression.

“You’re horrible at this.” She manages to hold back on her laugh… just barely.

Sothis doesn’t. She’s giggling and pointing, lying prone on the grass.

“Yeah, well, forgive me if my acting skills were never really that relevant to my career.” He rolls his eyes. “Can I get up now?”

“Not until a healer gets over here.”

He groans. “You’re oddly protective today.”

“Forgive me if seeing my father stabbed by the girl I had a friendly outing with next week was a little jarring.”

“Really… with her?” He frowns. “I don’t approve.”

A trickle of laughter bursts past her lips before she can stop it, and a second later the floodgates burst open, and she nearly topples to the ground in her hilarity.

“I’d… I’d assume you wouldn’t!” She cackles. “Given how – snrk – she literally just stabbed you in front of me.”

“It was a bad first impression.” Jeralt agrees with a grin. “Have you considered that Edelgard girl? She seems nice, and _much_ less destructive.”

She can’t help it. She falls back on the grass, laughing a bit madly even as Mercedes gets to work healing her father, shooting her an odd look.

“I worry about you sometimes, Professor.” The woman remarks.

Jeralt snorts. “Yeah, you’re not alone there, miss.”

\-----

Kronya’s eyes go as wide as saucers. She draws her weapon in a hurry, bringing the thing out and inspecting it quickly. Her red orbs seem to only widen further as she looks up at Byleth, rage in her features.

“How!?” She screams out, even as the last of her soldiers are being overrun all around her. “When!?”

“I snuck into yours and Edelgard’s room, about… oh, it was the night before the dance!” She smiles over at her opponent, finding revelry in her anger, even if it’s muted somewhat. “I broke in through the window, unlatched your secret drawer, and disenchanted it.”

“You claim _you_ did that!?” Kronya laughs, nay, howls at the prospect. “There’s not a chance in hell _you’d_ have been able to disenchant Athame! Only I could ever do such a thing! Who could you have possibly found who knew how!?”

She smiles, the memories flooding back.

“A young girl in a snowy field. I knew her… Goddess,” She remarks sadly, remembering their last moments.

“What feels like a lifetime ago, now.”

\-----

_“So…” The girl beside him looked at him with a bit of a shocked expression. “You… reincarnate?”_

_“Basically, yeah.” He explained, losing feeling in his fingertips as he wound them through the girl’s own. “I’m… the goddess Sothis’ vessel. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered. She lives in my head, and… we merge, and she disappears, usually when you get killed by Solon.”_

_Kronya nodded, not at all shocked to hear her compatriot would betray her._

_“But you said you normally kill me.”_

_“I do.” He confirmed. “I… I won’t call it a mistake. But I… forgot about you.”_

_It honestly was that simple. He’d gotten into such a routine with his lifetimes, thinking they were so perfectly solved, that he’d been working on autopilot. He’d gotten so used to stabbing her in the back, or inviting her to his room and slashing her head off, of casually ridding himself of her, that suddenly, when he’d been confronted with another, more immediate problem, she’d simply faded from his mind. He’d forgotten entirely to kill Kronya at some point before she could threaten Jeralt’s life, and instead, she’d stabbed his father in the back while he was off doing something else._

_He’d initially gone after her looking for revenge, the same as he had in his first lifetime, but there was something about the desperation on Kronya’s face when Solon ripped out her heart… something there that made him charge at the man, carve him in two, and work tirelessly to heal her._

_For someone human, a torn-out heart would’ve been the end of them. But Kronya was something beyond human. He was not sure if being an Agarthan had granted her that abnormal strength and constitution, that inhuman force of life, or if, more than likely, it had been experimentation by the scientists of Those Who Slither, some sick and twisted ritual that had made her… something more._

_Even still, she’d been able to be saved. Rhea had called for her execution, but it had been Byleth’s choice to let her live. He’d protected her against the church, and, somehow, that seemed to have earned the girl’s loyalty._

_“Not like I can go back to my ‘old pals’ anyways.” Kronya had claimed at the time. “So, sure. Guess I owe you one.”_

_From there, events had gone on and on, and though he’d tried to keep things normal, on track, many incidents had spiraled out of control, and led to the brutalization of the continent. A war that went on for years, far beyond the regular span it normally took up._

_His allies were dead or scattered, and his enemies too numerous to comprehend. He’d run out of pulses hours ago. He would not abandon his goal, which meant this lifetime… it was already meaningless._

_But something had stopped him from rewinding the clock…_

_Though, perhaps **‘someone’** was the more appropriate term._

_And now here they were… alone in the snow._

_“A bit funny…” Kronya smiled. “Usually you wouldn’t admit you forgot about someone to their face and claim it a positive.”_

_He smiled; the joke would’ve normally been enough to make him laugh…_

_But he was dying. He lacked the energy he needed to breath, let alone laugh._

_“I’m sorry.” He spoke out a moment or two later._

_“What for?”_

_“For… leaving you.” He admitted, feeling his heart slow dramatically. “I’m-”_

_“Hey.” Kronya cut him off, sitting up, and leaning over him. “You’re… going to go back to the beginning or whatever, right?”_

_“Yeah.” He admitted, having already told her the basics of how his resets worked. “Why?”_

_“Does that mean… you’ll encounter another me? One who’s going to try and kill your father, just like I did?”_

_He tried to nod, but it wouldn’t come._

_“…Yeah.” He barely squeezed out past his lips. “I-”_

_She shook her head._

_“Then… I want you to know something.” She drew a blade, her blade, from out of a segment of her pantleg. “This is… Athame. It’s a blade specially created by the Agarthans to kill immortals, or… well, those who share the blood of the Goddess, or… something. I don’t really know, they never needed me to know. If I was captured, they said I had to know how to break or dispel the enchantment in a hurry so they couldn’t reverse-engineer it.” She laughed bitterly. “Funny they never taught me any ways to protect my **life**. Guess those assholes never really cared about me at all, huh? Not too surprising when you think about it.”_

_He could do nothing more than blink as frost began to gather on his eyelashes._

_“I’ll tell you how to disenchant it.” She looked him in the eye, and he could see her draw in breath. It was such a sad display, her realizing he had no time. “I’ll go quick, so in the future, you might have to take some time to learn how to do it yourself… but… this is…” She leaned in closer to him, so that their faces were only a scant few inches from each other, and he could tell there was something on the tip of her tongue she desperately wanted to say. Instead, she leaned back, and smiled melancholically at him._

_“This is the only thing I can offer you that’d… that’d be worth anything.”_

_\-----_

“I’ll find… whoever this is,” The Kronya of the present grinds her teeth together. “And I will _end them!_ ”

“Afraid you’re a little late, there.” She explains with a small flick of her sword, quickly decapitating a soldier trying to sneak up on her. “She died a long time ago.”

“Hah, good riddance.”

She smiles slightly, knowing the girl she’d known all that time ago would’ve found that humorous if she were here.

“Well then, wielder of Athame, a regular-ass dagger,” She bows at Kronya, and listens to her growl in rage. “May I request a duel?”

The only response her opponent gives is to lunge at her, screaming like a wild animal.

Their battle is fierce, largely because Kronya is the first _actually_ competent fighter she’s fought in a half a year. She can train against her father, and Jeritza’s skill is nothing to scoff at either, but a real fight, one where lives are on the line, has a different weight, different stakes. Training can never match it.

She parries the initial hit, but Kronya’s follow-up kick to the side of her skull nearly connects. She dodges underneath it but Kronya’s whip-like tails flare out, and nearly cut into her torso as she snakes around that as well.

She goes on the attack this time, letting her sword separate and whipping it around, forcing Kronya to dodge and parry as she moves slowly back into the center of the small platform they duel upon.

She charges inwards, using her forward momentum to make her first hits strike harder, before bending forwards and driving a fist into Kronya’s stomach. The girl doesn’t wretch, but she doesn’t look very comfortable either.

They pace around one another, the battle lines drawn. Byleth has solidly won the first exchange, but Kronya hasn’t lost yet.

_“She will.”_

Byleth’s next attack is a Ruptured Heaven, sending the coils of her blade spiraling around her and decimating her surroundings, sending a few trees to the ground with a sickening crash. Kronya has managed to avoid the attack, but she’s off balance. Byleth has no problem snaking into her guard and unleashing a vicious set of blows.

They’re hard-hitting and brutal, and Kronya’s on the backfoot entirely now, defensively answering with everything she can. The girl technically has four weapons capable of killing her, but none of them can get through her prowess.

The fight is over with another flick of her sword, and Athame, powerless, is knocked to the floor. She slashes once more, a hit to her opponents chest that she knows won’t really deter Kronya all too badly, but one that will at least mark the end of their fight.

She looks down at the woman below her and points her sword at her breast.

“Surrender?” She asks with a teasing smile.

Kronya growls.

“Go fuck yourself!”

She rises, attempting to cut into Byleth’s torso with one of her tails, but instead, she is met halfway.

Not by Byleth’s blade, but by one of Solon’s spells.

She is sent scattering to the ground nearby, and Solon stalks over. He launches a few dark magics at Byleth, but she’s able to dodge around them with ease. Still, it gives him the positioning to get to Kronya first.

She stands up and shoots the man an angry glare.

“What gives!? You aimed that spell at me!”

Byleth sees the next moment in slow motion. Kronya’s eyes widen as Solon prepares another dark magic spell. It is aimed not at Byleth, but at Kronya, standing only half a meter in front of him. Kronya must know, somehow instinctively, that she will not survive such an attack, but that she cannot dodge it either, not so close, and as injured as she is.

She opens her mouth to beg, or plead, or do anything, but before she can even get the noise out, a blade passes right by her face.

It gores Solon’s own before he can even blink.

The man’s body slides slowly down to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch as the remnants of his head hit the stone below. Kronya, evidently still in shock, looks back at her with a complicated expression.

“What… the hell?”

She says nothing as she walks over to Kronya, and the girl, aside from backing away slightly, does nothing to stop her approach.

“Why the hell did you save me?”

“I don’t much like people who mistreat their allies.” She says truthfully, scowling down at Solon’s corpse and, just for good measure, kicking it. “People like that, trusting and being trusted by no one, disgust me most of all.”

Kronya looks like she wants to say something, anything, really, but before she can, Dimitri and a few others come up from behind her.

“Professor, we’ve-” His voice cuts off as he sees who’s between them, and he raises his lance. “What’s your call, Professor?”

Kronya’s eyes dart wildly from her to Dimitri, and she backpedals quickly, keeping them both of them in her line of sight as she stands with her back to a steep cliffside, going up about seven meters.

Dimitri walks over, as does the rest of his unit, which consists of himself, Sylvain, and Ingrid. She’s never sure why he decides he’s going to assemble the ‘spear-squad’ as Sothis so lovingly calls them, but he does it quite often. It’s certainly not very tactically advantageous, lacking any real strength against axe-users.

She’s distracted, however. She focuses back in on Kronya, ready to strike back like a cornered animal, and before it can come to that with her units stepping forward, she gets between them all.

“Let her go.”

The response… is not a particularly popular one.

Almost all of the normal rank and file sent with them are up in arms. Not literally, since if they tried she had a feeling Dimitri would step in, but they shout their disagreements and make it rather clear that an enemy of the church doesn’t get to go free. She’d appreciate their enthusiasm if she appreciated their enthusiasm.

She doesn’t.

Her students don’t exactly seem supportive, but they at the very least simply sigh disappointedly, like they completely expected this, and aren’t sure why they’re even surprised.

“Professor… might I remind you that this is the woman who stabbed Jeralt?” Dimitri looks to her with drawn down eyebrows. “She should be brought in and tried for her crimes.”

“Yes, perhaps she should.” Byleth answers, surprisingly all present. “But tell me, do you think it would be easy to capture her?”

Dimitri looks over, and she can tell he’s analyzing the girl as much as she has. Kronya is powerful, there’s no mistake about that. She matches Jeritza in combat strength and is an expert at close quarters. The whip-like tails that sway behind her uncertainly are just another facet of her power.

She won’t be easy to take in alive. Even killing her would be rather difficult.

“Are you saying we’d lose more soldiers than it’s worth trying to take her in?”

“Yes.” She only half-lies. “I’m saying we let her go, and retreat knowing we took out one of the bigger players of this organization.”

Dimitri seems to consider that for a moment, and, as the leader of this operation, he certainly has some say. She could supersede him, but she certainly doesn’t want to. After a good fifteen seconds spent contemplating, he finally sighs out.

“All troops, ready the carts. We return to Garreg Mach.”

Some seem to want to complain, but none do. The future King’s word, and her own along with it, carries weight, more weight than any one soldier is willing to contend with. She imagines if one had the stones to come up and say they don’t like the order, then maybe more would join in, but luckily, none do.

“Wait!”

It’s Kronya’s voice, calling from the edge of the cliff. Her back is still against it, and she still looks entirely uncertain, like she’s waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her at any moment.

“What the hell are you trying to pull, huh!?” The girl grinds her teeth together. “I don’t owe you shit, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.” She speaks somewhat truthfully. “I’m just asking you not to try and kill any of us as long as we give you that same treatment.”

Kronya looks to disagree, to want to make this into another battle, but she raises her head slightly, looking over the massive force over five hundred soldiers strong still awaiting Dimitri’s command.

“Alright.” She finally hisses out, looking away from Byleth. “Next time I see you, though…” Kronya looks up at her, opens her mouth, and then, just as she looks like she’s about to swear vengeance against her, she closes it.

Instead, she gives a small click of her tongue, and runs away.

 _“Not sure what you’re hoping for with that one.”_ Sothis admits as she corporealizes beside her, looking up into her face. _“She’s not exactly… trustworthy.”_

 _“More so than anyone else from Those Who Slither.”_ She argues rather pedantically. _“Still… there’s a part of me that wants her back. Sue me for that if you want, but she was just about the strongest ally I’ve ever had, aside from the lords.”_

 _“Can’t argue with that.”_ Sothis agrees. _“In a straight fight, few were better. Problem comes in in how we only ever **got** her as an ally once. Every other time we've tried, it hasn't worked.”_

Both of them know it's the truth, but Sothis must realize she's not going to be swayed, and that it's not worth arguing with her over. The goddess lets out a small sigh before fading back into the ether of her head.

She steps back into the main clearing with the others and sits down on one of the many carts that transport them to and from the monastery. She makes idle conversation with Annette, who isn’t really saying much other than asking her, quietly, if she thinks Mercedes likes her or not.

Well, she’s not actually saying that; she’s more worried she _doesn’t_ like her and is trying to word it in a way that she could _totally_ be talking about someone who isn’t Mercedes.

Byleth, however, hadn’t been born yesterday.

She gives what she thinks is a fairly simple answer (“Just tell her.”) and settles in for the long-haul.

 _“Hey.”_ Sothis speaks to her as she appears as a floating apparition in front of her. _“This whole Kronya thing is all well and good, but don’t we need to be focusing on Rhea as well?”_

 _“Yeah,”_ She nods. _“I guess we do.”_

Sothis pauses for a moment, looking her over with a small frown.

_“You’re tired, aren’t you?”_

_“No.”_ She tries to lie, before remembering that Sothis can read her thoughts, thus knowing she had tried to lie. _“Maybe.”_

_“Sleep. We can talk about this when we get back to the Monastery.”_

Sothis floats down and sits next to her in the cart. Technically, the spot’s a bit too small for another person to take up, but her patron goddess has the ability to ignore things like gravity in favor of a nice moment between them.

She leans ever so slightly in Sothis’ direction, and the girl leans towards her as well, nestling in the crook of her neck and closing her eyes.

 _“Night.”_ Sothis mutters out pleasantly, her eyes shut.

She finds herself smiling.

_“Y’know, it’s barely cresting evening-”_

_“Say the line, dear.”_

She snickers, and a few of the soldiers riding with her look confused. They go back to their own devices within a few seconds, and Byleth and Sothis are, once more, left alone.

 _“Night.”_ Byleth echoes.

_“Took you long enough.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. I got this one out on time, too!
> 
> Getting more into the plot on this one, next chapter shooouuuuld theoretically cap off the White Clouds section of the story... probably? Not sure on that one yet. Well, anyways, Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion next week... well...
> 
> Probs taking a small break for wrist health this upcoming week. So next chapter will be more like 2 and a half weeks. My apologies, but I value my wrists over my writing schedule, cause one's a little more important.
> 
> See you then!


	7. A Night Just for the Two of Them

When they return to the Monastery, Byleth waits a day to go to Rhea. She could go immediately, but quite honestly, she’s tired, and taking an extra day has legitimately no effect on the events to come (and believe her, she’s checked). When she arrives, she informs the woman on some of the previous day’s happenings, though, more than that, it’s a great chance for her to slip in a seemingly useless piece of information.

“And then, after the fight, while I was sleeping,” She begins, making sure to pay extra attention to Rhea’s facial expressions as she speaks her next few lines. “I had this… weird vision of a green-haired girl.”

Rhea’s face blanches, and her eyes go wide, even as she fights desperately to keep said expressions controlled.

“Really?” She stands just a bit quicker than Byleth feels she normally would, walking over to her rather briskly. “That’s… strange. What did this girl say – that is to say, did she say anything to you?”

 _“She’s not very good at hiding that she knows something about this, is she?”_ Sothis turns to her with a small smile.

 _“No.”_ Byleth agrees. _“She’s definitely not.”_

“Well,” She answers aloud. “She mentioned… the holy tomb… but I wasn’t really sure why that would be relevant.”

Rhea’s entire being seems to shine, and the smile on the woman’s face is only one step back from ecstatic.

“It would seem you have received a vision from the Goddess herself!” Rhea exclaims rather exuberantly for a millennia old dragon-woman. “Next month, we shall, the both of us, with your class in tow, travel down to the Tomb and see if you cannot hear another.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” She agrees easily enough, seeing as how this is really what she wants to have happen anyways. “Suppose I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

She bids the woman adieu and makes her way back to her classroom, apologizes for being twenty-ish minutes late, and begins her morning lessons.

She is distracted, however, by Sothis, who materializes and sits on her desk in front of her, legs hanging off the side and swinging back and forth in a 1-2 pattern.

 _“So…”_ Sothis looks up at her, concern written all over her. _“We’re approaching the ‘blip’.”_

 _“Mhm.”_ Byleth acknowledges the girl’s fear, even as she answers Ashe’s question about proper phalanx set-up.

Multi-tasking is one of those things one gets rather good at when they’ve got a voice in their head constantly chatting with them that no one else can hear.

 _“It’s not like we’ll have to part for long.”_ She reassures the goddess, before deciding to joke around with her a bit to try and start some banter. _“What, worried about what I’ll get up to without your supervision?”_

 _“Have you met you?”_ Sothis cocks an eyebrow.

_“That’s fair.”_

She finishes up the morning’s lessons, and heads over to the lunchroom to get some food. On her way there, however, she’s caught by Edelgard, who pulls her aside with a hesitant air about her.

“Professor… I need you speak with you.”

Byleth’s quite a bit surprised given that this doesn’t usually happen.

“Sure.” She responds evenly, gauging just what it is that’s going on. “What is it you need?”

The girl steadies herself, and it’s at this moment that Byleth realizes she’s seen the look in the girl’s eyes before.

Knows what she’s about to ask.

“…A favor.”

\-----

Embarr is as imposing as usual. Such a fact should not come as a surprise, but somehow, to Byleth at this very moment, it does. She stands flabbergasted as she looks upon the towering spires of the main castle, a structure she has spent far less time taking in the sights of as she has sieging it.

She should not be here. Perhaps that is why this seems so odd.

Their trip had not been a particularly quick one. Four days one way, and it would be a week back the other way, taking safer routes than they had to get here. That likely had something to do with the rushed nature of Edelgard’s crowning, in order to get a leg up on Those Who Slither.

Or perhaps this, too, is all apart of their plan. Byleth’s never cared to know, it certainly wouldn’t change the result.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Professor.” Edelgard walks ahead of her rather quickly, taking the steps up towards the palace two at a time, making it to the top twice as fast as either of the two of them, a rare obvious showing of nerves for the girl. “I regret that I could not have informed you sooner, but-”

“It’s fine, Edelgard.” She reassures the girl, knowing that this is, aside from the torture she’d been inflicted upon as a child, likely the scariest day of her life. “You’ve no need to apologize for wanting some support.”

“Still, I feel I must thank you rather profusely.” Edelgard bows to her as she reaches the top of the stares, and then turns to their second guest, and bows again. “You as well, Dimitri.”

“Yes.” The boy bows back to her, straightening his outfit, the same regal looking battle-wear he normally dons, added onto the furred cape he’ll wear five years from now to make himself seem a bit kinglier, for about the thousandth time. “It’s an honor, El – uh, my apologies, Empress Edelgard.”

 _“And isn’t that a kicker.”_ Sothis’ eyes are narrowed as she takes in the rather stone-faced wannabe King, who looks to be doing his best to remain calm. _“Sure, she’s never invited us to one of these outside the Black Eagles… but she’s never invited Dimitri… **ever.** ”_

“Dimitri, for the love of all things, if you start calling me _that_ , know I will split your shoulders from your spine.” The girl huffs out, and though it’s facetious, Byleth isn’t all that surprised to find some real intent in the soon-to-be-empress’ voice. “Nothing between… any of us should change. I will treat you no different when you are crowned king, I would hope to receive the same treatment from you.”

“My deepest apologies!” Dimitri bows again, seemingly missing the point entirely, and only Byleth’s hand on Edelgard’s shoulder, as shaky as it is with her laughing up a storm, is enough to hold the eagle back from rampaging across the lion before her.

\-----

The royal palace is gaudy in all the right ways.

She feels that sentence doesn’t make a large amount of sense, but screw it, Byleth quite enjoys being pampered. Having fresh towels outside a massive, three-meter tub, heated underneath with a few coals that leave the water just on the cusp of cresting too hot, but never edging over. The tile leading up to and surrounding it is a brilliant maroon, the same color used in the Black Eagle’s banners, and while the tub itself is white, it’s lined with intricate golden patterns that reflect the lanterns hanging in the cardinal points of the room. Somehow, despite what should be an intimidating design, it manages to come off as almost cozy.

It’s bliss, and Byleth plans to make the most of it.

…Even if she’s technically skipping out on her duties for the month, like teaching her classes, talking with Rhea, training with her students, and a million other things, just to chill out and relax in the Empire for a month.

She’s not complaining, even if Sothis definitely is.

 _“You’re a hack.”_ The goddess spits out at her, which doesn’t sound quite as convincing as it perhaps should, given that she too is sitting in the massive tub, just in front of her, with their legs intersecting.

 _“Not now, sweetie,”_ She places a hand over her face, as if blocking the sun above on a sweltering day on the coast. _“I’m enjoying the luxuries of royalty.”_

_“A fraud.”_

_“The bath salts are lemon scented, but with the tiniest splash of purer citrus…”_

_“A dirty swindler.”_

_“It gives the whole thing a real ocean-side feel.”_

Byleth expects the girl to continue her name calling, but instead, Sothis nods her head, seemingly agreeing as she sinks deeper into the water. _“It is, isn’t it.”_

_“Definitely.”_

Sothis lets out a deep, satisfied moan, and she follows with one of her own, allowing herself to sink deeper into the water, nearly letting it come up to her nostrils.

_“Con-woman.”_

_“I was kind of hoping you’d have forgotten about that while you were distracted.”_

_“Yes, and I could hear your thoughts when you came up with that plan.”_ Sothis cocks an eyebrow. _“Ringing any bells.”_

 _“I call foul.”_ She claims as she sees the tiniest of smiles blossom on Sothis’ face, before she kills it off young. _“You’re cheating. I’m calling mind-reading cheating from now on.”_

_“Oh yeah? Then let’s see if you can-”_

A knock on the wooden door to the bathroom has Byleth sitting up, and she answers the call even as Sothis dematerializes.

“Mistress Byleth?” One of the many, many servants who works for the imperial family, an elderly man who seems friendly in a grandfatherly way, answers from the other side of the door, sounding rather exasperated. “I believe you should be looking into stepping out of the bath soon. You’ve been in there nearly three hours, and I’m afraid if you spend any longer in the water, your very soul will begin to prune.”

She pouts, even as she does as suggested and steps out of the bath.

As she does, she wonders what the others are getting up to.

\-----

The palace is far, far too gaudy for Dimitri’s tastes, even if he can remember his own way back when having rather similar decoration.

Still, royalty for him has ever been a matter of respect, of dignity and honor. It is certainly not about lavish mahogany dinner tables that stretch onwards for fifteen meters, or red silk tablecloths, or even about meals that taste better than nearly anything he can remember having.

Still, he cannot deny that he’s thankful he’s here.

Edelgard had come to him in a bit of a state, clearly nervous beyond anything he’d ever seen from the normally (recent events notwithstanding) unflappable girl. Byleth had been following along behind her already, and he’d have been hard-pressed to deny the request of someone he… thought so highly of.

Even with what he’d known about her, the fact that El would still invite him along… it meant a lot to him, even if he’d been too afraid to say it.

A quick visit to Rhea, a blessing given rather… gracelessly (which is to say Rhea had been less than pleased about two of her students and a teacher being gone an entire month, but had also known she couldn’t really step on the Empire’s toes, or the personal request of the soon-to-be Empress, without seeming quite disrespectful) and they’d been off to Embarr.

The ride takes four days, which is an uncomfortably large period of time to have only two people to talk to, especially when one of them is your homeroom teacher. And the other is a terrorist probably working to destabilize the continent.

And also, someone he… respects.

He refuses to admit it’s anything more than respect.

His mind flashes back to their shared time at the dance, El coming over and seeking him out voluntarily, yelling at him as he makes “all the wrong moves” as she’d said it. To him, at least, seeing her like that had brought him back nearly a decade, to when they’d just been children, to when Edelgard’s face had been filled with uncertainty, sure, but also hope and wonder.

It’d brought back memories of dancing, and laughing and playing around as children did, of Sylvain butting his head in and getting them all into trouble, of a happier Felix coming in and joining in with him, the two partners in crime. He remembers, too, handing that girl a dagger as she’d departed, an action his friends had laughed at him over.

He’d always liked to think she’d seen the meaning behind it.

He remembers the laughter that’d poured out of him at the nostalgia, and the melancholic wave that’d washed over him as he looked into El’s eyes a moment or two after. Gone had been the wonder, gone had been the hope, replaced with a dripping cynicism and a desolate pride, a willingness to do what must be done. But even still, even dealing with all of that, she’d looked up at him and smiled, amused.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” She’d asked him.

His throat had closed up, even as he’d opened his mouth to try and speak.

He’d been unable to answer.

\-----

Ionius IX seems to Dimitri to be the kind of man who would’ve been incredibly intimidating in his time. His voice booming as he’d spoken, backed by an army ten’s of thousands strong. Now, he is a shell of himself, his eyes ringed with bags and his face worn from stress as much as age.

He seems the type to be haunted by demons, something Dimitri feels he can empathize with.

Dimitri stands at the back of the chamber with Byleth as Edelgard and her father exchange words, all of it immaterial and ceremonial. It is not until the two finish, and the man places an ornamental crown atop Edelgard’s head, that he looks up into his daughters eyes and seems to finally speak something of value. From the way El’s face warps into something resembling grief, he feels it is not a happy topic.

Still, he is far more surprised when the man looks instead towards him and beckons him up to his throne.

“So,” The Emperor, for that is what he’d been up until a few minutes prior, and thusly what Dimitri would likely call him even in the future, studies his face, a curious look in his tired eyes. “You are Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the future king of Faerghus.”

“I am sir.” He keeps his voice as steady as he can, happy with the way it doesn’t falter. “It is an honor to meet you, your majesty.”

“Please, I’m no longer a man of such esteem.” The man’s mouth twinges upwards ever so slightly, like the ghost of a smile has momentarily haunted his features. “I understand you and your father looked after Edelgard while she was in the Kingdom,” The man bows his head ever so slightly, causing Dimitri’s eyes to widen greatly. “You have my gratitude, as late as it is, for granting my daughter the happiest year of her life.”

Edelgard turns away from the both of them, a complicated expression on her face, which quickly morphs into an entirely different one as she turns to a new entrant, who, from Dimitri’s rather complex knowledge of the governmental structure of the empire, he knows is Duke Aegir.

The following conversation between the two is loaded with so much subtext that even he, a fairly experienced practitioner of the art, is lost from moment one. By the end, he’s managed to gather that the Duke has been stripped of his power, effectively fired from his position.

“I am afraid I will not be around much longer.” Ionius looks away from his daughter, and up at him. “I could never be there for her when I needed to be… I could never help her on the path she’s chosen. Giving her my authority, however little I had left, was all I could hope to do.”

“With all due respect, sir… why tell _me_ this?”

“You are different.” Light seems to return to the man’s eyes. “You wield the power of a king, young man. That is no easy task you’ve had set for yourself. Besides, my daughter invited you here, and you decided to come, even if you had no reason to do either of those things.”

He finds himself looking away from the man’s knowing expression, even as he gives an airy chuckle at his expense.

“What would you have me do, sir?”

“Help her, if you can.” The man implores him, and he can feel the emotion in the way Ionius reaches out and takes Dimitri’s own hand. “Help her find herself in this world that seeks to rip her identity away, and… if she finds herself led astray, I’d ask you drag her back.” He winks, with a charm that embodies the man he must’ve been, once upon a time. “Kicking and screaming, if you must.”

He finds himself smiling, despite all of that.

“If you don’t mind me saying… You’re an odd person, sir.”

“I am a father, King Blaiddyd, as worthless at it as I’ve been.” In that moment, the lines covering his face seem to deepen, but even still, he manages to speak a few parting words. “I merely want the best from my daughter… and, to go back to your earlier question…”

The man releases his hand, letting it fall back to Dimitri’s side, even as he places his own two on his lap.

“I am telling _you_ this… because I feel you do as well.”

\-----

Night falls, and Dimitri finds himself alone in one of several guest rooms.

A few hours prior, Edelgard had been crowned Empress, and she’d immediately (as in quite literally seconds after receiving said authority) gone about making reforms to the empire. The forced retirement of Duke Aegir, and the proposed reclamation of several territories that’d been under his control.

It will be an important thing to go over with some of his advisors once he returns to the kingdom at the end of the year, but for now, he’s left to think on his lonesome.

Or, at least, that is until a knock sounds at the door to his chambers. He climbs out of the lavish bed, quickly dresses himself in an acceptable manner, and answers the summons.

It’s Edelgard.

“El?” He slips into calling the girl her old nickname on instinct. “Ah, my apologies, I meant to say-”

“No.” She answers with a small smile. “Call me El. I vastly prefer it to whatever you were about to say just now.”

He’d been about to say “Empress Edelgard”, so he can sort of understand that. Even if she’s told him numerous times (at least once every half hour or so) to treat her normally… it is rather difficult, given the change in her status. He admires El, wants to give her the proper honor and respect she deserves.

“Then… El.” He shakes his head, showing a bit of his feelings on that matter. “What are you doing here? It’s awfully late.”

“It’s been a long day, and… I was looking to destress.” Edelgard gives him an oddly embarrassed expression. “I was wondering if you’d walk with me.”

His eyes widen slightly, even as a small smile comes to his face.

“That sounds wonderful.” He’d been looking for an excuse to speak with her anyways. “Where to?”

“Nowhere, really. Just walking and talking.” She speaks as he exits the room and locks his door. “We’re not technically allowed to wander this late, but seeing as I’m Empress now…”

“Wow,” He teases. “I can’t believe the powers gone to your head not even half a day into your rule.”

Edelgard laughs lightly.

The trip down through the halls is an uneventful one, though it’s not like that hadn’t been the plan. They chat lightly, finding themselves drifting towards the library, where they spend around an hour looking through old books. Dimitri himself is impressed at just how much larger this one is than his family’s own, though that is perhaps due to the longer history of Edelgard’s line.

Still, he finds himself enjoying the time they’re spending together. It feels… warm in a way that’s hard to describe. He feels contented simply getting to enjoy an evening with her, a thing he hasn’t been allowed to do in…

Goddess, it’s been a decade.

Still, he can’t let himself forget a part of the reason he’d come here. Especially given what her father had told him earlier.

“El?”

“Mm?”

She turns to him on the small bench they share, off in the corner of the library. A pile of books is stacked on the table in front of her, little stories she’d thought interesting that she’d wanted to share, and others that he’d picked out himself.

“I… I wanted to ask you more about… current happenings.” He steels his nerve, deciding to get right into it. “Regarding that group who-”

“Dimitri?”

Before he can even begin, Edelgard has already cut him off.

“Yes?”

“I…”

The girl looks down at the book before her, a simple collection of children’s stories, and he sees that she has turned it to a page that contains one that the two of them had always loved. A rather simple fable, a story of a fawn raised by wolves, a story that says that bonds are what you make of them, no matter what. It’d always meant a lot to the both of them for how it’d mirrored their own situation.

“I know that learning about that is… important. But…” She turns to him, and he can see an honest hint of desperation in her expression. “Please. Just for tonight. Let’s just… spend some time together, alright? No kings or empresses. No coronations or power struggles. No… no continent breaking schemes. Just…” Her hand inches towards him, but it stops before it can go too far. “A night just for the two of us.”

He exhales, having not even known he was holding his breath.

“I… that sounds fine.”

Edelgard gives him an honest smile.

“Thank you.”

They spend the rest of their time rereading old fairy tales and talking about little things of insignificance.

By the time they exit the library, it’s the middle of the night.

They come up to Dimitri’s room, and he steps up to it, placing his hand on the doorknob.

“El, I had a great night.” He smiles, a true feeling of… something in his chest. “That was… revitalizing.”

“Yes, it was… but…” The girl looks down and away from him, her cheeks going a soft pink, before she looks back up and clears her throat. “I would appreciate if you would accompany me just a bit longer.”

“Really?” He asks, not minding the idea nearly as much as he thought he’d might. “Not tired of me, yet?”

“You should count yourself lucky.” Edelgard teases back, but there’s a lilt in her voice that gives it a shaky sound, like she’s on the verge of hyperventilating. After a moment, she shakes her head, effectively dismissing the moment of weakness. “I would ask you continue accompanying me.”

“You’re unusually self-centered tonight.” He jokes, before the smile on his face dies as he sees the desolate curve of her lips, twinging upwards into a smile that almost seems to mock her.

“Forgive me…” She says, and her voice is so small. “Just this once, I would like to have something for myself.”

“I…” His voice trails off, even as he takes his hand off the doorknob. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Edelgard looks back to him, smiling lightly as she gestures for him to follow once more. He does so without complaint.

“By the way,” He brings up, as it’s only now come to his attention. “Have you seen Professor Byleth at all since the ceremony? I couldn’t find her since… well, this castle’s a bit too big to memorize in a day.”

His compatriot gives a light chuckle, thinking on that for a moment.

“I haven’t spoken with her since then, no.” Another laugh forces its way through her throat as she seems to remember something. “Although, according to some of the staff, she’s been in the baths all day.”

“Really?” He finds himself chuckling along. “Strange that she’s the type to appreciate luxury. I always took her as the kind of person who’d die if she ever stopped moving.”

Every few meters, a candleholder serves to illuminate the long hallway they’re walking down. Below them is a fine red carpet, and off to their right, interspersed among large windows, are fanciful suits of armor that look rather unwieldy.

For some reason, taking in the hallway has a rather aimless memory popping up in his head, and he snickers slightly as he steps back up beside Edelgard, looking to tease ever-so-slightly.

“Y’know, speaking of the Professor,” He studies the look on Edelgard’s face, which doesn’t much change at his words. “When we first arrived in the Monastery, I suspected you had a crush on her from the way you behaved in her presence.”

Edelgard goes bright red, which, from her, is about as close to confirmation as he’s going to get. He wonders, idly, while he’s laughing at her and she’s berating him back, if this is how Sylvain feels all of the time.

His friend can never know, but…

He gets it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” He continues his tormenting. “You certainly didn’t stare at her for hours on end in the lunchroom or pay especially close attention to certain parts of her form when we had monastery-wide trainings.”

Edelgard glares at him.

“What’s gotten into you that’s made you so joking all of a sudden?”

It’s not until she’s pointed it out to him that it strikes him as odd. Really, him acting like Sylvain? Such a thought is asinine, it is almost always him being teased, with someone on the other end.

But… he thinks he does know the reason, really, and it’s not quite as complicated as he’s expecting.

“I think… because I’m comfortable around you, really.” He smiles over at her, even as both of their cheeks heat up ever-so-slightly. “Tonight’s been a grand reminder of the times we used to share when we were younger. And even with all that’s going on… I want to think that still shines through, still means more than our circumstances.”

Edelgard looks away, an absent look on her face as she steps towards him. It’s a tiny move, but it’s enough to have him bristling slightly as the girl’s hand brushes against his own.

“Fine,” The girl sighs out. “If you must know, I had a… small crush on the Professor.”

“Hah.” He grins.

“How could I not!?” Edelgard argues. “She jumped in front of an axe, performed a flawless disarming maneuver, and saved my life all in the span of three seconds, forgive me a bit of hero worship.”

“Leave it to you to fall for a woman’s technique with a sword.” He gives one final tease, to a flat glare from Edelgard. “Oh, I’m not blaming you. I found myself rather enraptured with her as well, though admittedly not quite in the same way. She’s… interesting. In a way I can’t quite describe.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” Edelgard laughs. “Interesting.”

“So, no pining for teacher?”

“It was just a childish crush; a fleeting one I had for a few weeks and then grew out of.” Edelgard huffs annoyedly. “It was nothing like I had for–”

Her eyes go wide, and her lips practically seal themselves shut as she ceases to speak.

His entire body has begun to heat up, and it only keeps heating up in the intermittent moments, as the two continue walking to some unknown destination. He notes the sounds of the bugs outside, barely audible through the glass windows, and of the candles around them, the tiniest hisses of flame echoing out.

Most of all, he notes his heart, beating away in his chest and pounding in his ears.

His throat is a desert as he forces his lips apart.

“For?”

Edelgard’s face is ashen, and he follows the movements of her throat as she swallows, likely trying to do the same thing he’s doing right then, to bite down on her nerves.

What he thinks is happening… surely can’t actually be happening…

…Right?

“There was…” She begins, and it seems she is only able to force her voice onwards through some titanic effort. “A boy I knew in the Kingdom… a lifetime ago.” She pointedly avoids his eyes, even as his heart somehow beats faster, louder in his ears. “I believed then, and still do now, that you could’ve searched the whole country, perhaps the whole continent, and not found someone as kind, or as loyal…” She smiles, even as she comes to a stop in front of a seemingly random room. “Or as poor a dancer as he was.”

His heart feels like it quite literally rests in his throat, pounding at a thousand miles a minute.

There’s a moment here, one which he’s not sure if he can quantify, or really even describe if he’d ever be asked about this in the future. Still, now, it is undeniable. He can see it in the way El looks at him as well. It’s…

Before he can make any movement, Edelgard leans backwards, resting against the door just behind her and placing her hand on the doorknob.

“This is my room.” She explains. “Well, it was my room for the very brief periods I stayed in the castle. I wasn’t around all that often, given that I was in the kingdom, then tossed around here, and… so…”

He can tell she’s rambling, more than a bit nervous. He wants to go back to that moment they’d had just a few seconds prior, because he feels like he’s missed something so terribly important.

Before he can begin to regret that, however, Edelgard stuns him.

“I would… like to invite you inside to study.”

His heart skips a beat, even as his cheeks go incredibly red.

“W-what?” His voice is neither confident nor steady, breaking in several places. “El, what are you…”

The girl looks away from him, and for a moment, he fears he’s ruined something. Instead, she brings out the ornamental crown her father had placed upon her head earlier on in the day, an event that feels like it’d happened weeks ago now. It seems to place such a burden upon her, and yet, from the way she cradles it, wraps her hands around it and holds it close, he can tell she treasures it also.

Or perhaps _needs it_ is more correct.

“I fear… come the morrow, I will not have much time for myself in my day to day activities.” She looks up at him, her eyes so filled with emotion that he cannot read anything within them, even if he’s more focused on the heat of her face, and the subtle movements of her lips. “I would like to… to make the most of tonight.”

The context of what she’s saying is laid on so thick that even an idiot, him, in this case, can see what she’s getting at. Still, he can’t help but flounder.

This is… certainly not how he’d expected his night to go.

“A-Are you sure?” His voice cracks mid-sentence, in what must be the saddest showing of his entire life, for some reason latching onto El’s ‘studying’ as a usable term to show his nerves. “I mean, your grades are far better than mine, studying with me might bring you down more than-”

“It’s you.”

Her voice cuts his off entirely, leaving an empty chasm in his throat where his heart had once been, even as a weight rests on his chest. It is both Edelgard’s hand, hanging just above his heart, and a second, invisible force.

“You’re… It’s only ever been you…”

At the very least, he feels confident in saying no being in the world could come up with a proper answer to something as profound as that. He doesn’t even try.

“A-Ah.”

He reaches up and grasps her fingers in his own, and for once, his monstrous strength makes no appearances, despite that the way his blood is boiling makes him feel like he’s in the middle of an intense battle.

Perhaps it is due to the reason behind it.

His heart swells, and he’s able to quantify the feeling that’s been burning within him for months now.

He loves her. Horrid and messy, yes, but despite everything, he can’t help loving her.

“So…” El’s voice is incredibly quiet, only audible due to the lack of any other sound in the corridor. “Would you… like to come inside and study with me?”

The answer comes to him instantly, even if it takes him a moment to find the strength to voice it.

“I would… if… if you’re sure.”

For the first time in minutes, El looks up into his eyes. Within them is not wonder, but it is, for once, hope. Well, hope, and a thousand other things, not the least of which is a crippling nervousness that he’s sure the both of them are going through. At the very least, he appreciates that she’s taking the lead here.

He’s not sure he would’ve been able to.

“Good. I… I have so often been denied what it is that I want.” El takes his hand, and, pushing open her door, leads him inside.

“Even if it’s only for tonight… Just this once… I intend to take it.”

\-----

Byleth’s up early, and by the time she’s eaten (making sure to get as much of that scrumptious food as she can), she’s ready to catch the carriage that’ll carry her and her students back to the Monastery.

Well, she would be, except the convoy doesn’t actually leave until midday, which means she’s stuck in the baths again until the time comes.

 _“Oh, woe is us.”_ Sothis sighs out rather dreamily. _“How will we ever survive?”_

 _“Not quite sure yet.”_ Byleth’s eyes are lidded. _“Get back to me in fifty… maybe sixty minutes.”_

Unfortunately, said hour (and a half if she’s being realistic) passes by rather quickly, and with the sun at its highest point in the sky, she needs to report to the entrance and be ready to leave. Letting out a small sigh and giving one last longing hand gesture towards the baths, she makes her way there.

She’s actually a bit surprised to find Edelgard and Dimitri absent, as are the stable hands, who look about ready to hook the horses up, but seem to be missing the future king of Faerghus and the new Adrestian Empress.

She’s about to go asking around when the man points up at the entrance, and she sees Edelgard and Dimitri walk out, though the former is hobbling a bit oddly, seeming to be trying to find a way to walk comfortably, and the latter is supporting her, letting her wrap an arm around his shoulders.

 _“Weird.”_ Byleth thinks.

Sothis is suspiciously silent.

“Hey you two.” She calls out to them, waving casually. “You’re awfully late.” She notes the way Edelgard’s limping. “You okay, Edelgard?”

The two go red for a moment, before Edelgard smiles up at her.

“Y-yes, I merely tripped last evening.”

“Ah, okay.” She accepts that without much trouble. “So, where were you two?”

“We were sleeping in. The two of us were rather exhausted.”

Byleth laughs. “Something keep you guys up?”

It’s Dimitri’s turn to speak, even if Byleth’s not quite sure how he manages with how horrendously red his face is. He looks more nervous than she’s seen him… perhaps ever.

“I-It’s nothing, Professor. The two of us were simply…” He looks to Edelgard, and the two seem to have a conversation entirely with facial expressions.

It’s honestly impressive.

“Studying!” He seems to settle on an excuse, even if said excuse only makes Edelgard go crimson. “The two of us were up late studying. You know how it is, Professor. Having such fun going over the stuff we learned in your lessons,” He gives her an extremely weak hit to the shoulder, as if she’d love such a compliment. “That we lost track of time. Ha ha!”

The entire outside clearing goes completely silent. Even the stable hand just behind them, who looks like he’s watching a dreadful chariot collision, in that he’s both horrified, but also can’t look away.

“Okay… well, I think they’ve been waiting for you, so…” She points towards the carriage. “Shall we head out?”

“Yes, definitely, Professor!” Edelgard’s acting weird now, grinning as she steps around Dimitri. She winces as her legs curve slightly, even as she keeps moving towards the carriage.

Dimitri follows at an oddly close distance, almost offering support. It seems… weird. They’re terribly close this morning.

 _“Oh my me.”_ Sothis’ eyebrows are raised incredibly high. _“I can’t believe those two…”_

 _“What?”_ She asks with some confusion.

 _“…Wait,”_ Sothis turns to her. _“You don’t see this?”_

 _“See what?”_ She looks to the both of them, trying to find some inconsistency. _“Should I be seeing something?”_

Sothis stares at her blankly.

_“Aren’t you the one getting on others for being dense?”_

_“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”_

_“Okay I honestly can’t tell if you’re fucking with me, so if you are, you can stop now, ha ha, very funny.”_

_“Why would I be-”_

_“Oh man, I’m bound to an idiot for all eternity.”_

_“Hey!”_

Before she can argue any further with her patron goddess, she’s called over by the stable hand, who tells her, about as politely as he can, to get her ass inside. She does so, sitting down on the bench the opposite side to the other two.

For some reason, Edelgard and Dimitri sit almost shoulder to shoulder, seeming to relish in the closeness. It is at this moment that her mind has a revelation.

_“Wait… you don’t think they…”_

Sothis sighs.

_“I hate you.”_

_\-----_

The day comes for them to descend into the Holy Tomb, and Byleth finds herself both surprised and totally having called the fact that she’s completely unprepared for it.

The trip down is uneventful, as it usually is. She takes a second to study her other students, since it’s been a while since she last saw most of them.

Felix is, as usual, unperturbed. Why they’re here doesn’t matter, he’ll get the job done. Sylvain is needling him in a way that borders on the edge of torture, quite literally poking him in the back every so often and then pretending it’s not him.

Childish? Sure. But it’s very clearly doing its job, for Felix looks like he’s debating the logistics of stabbing his friend, and stabbing his friend is sounding pretty good.

Mercedes and Annette hover close to one another, though there doesn’t seem to be anything much going on there. A casual conversation that Dedue seems to have been invited into, for he too is occasionally interspersing his opinion when asked for it.

Ashe is speaking with Flayn, laughing about something or another, even as some of the Archbishop’s personal guards shush the two of them. Byleth makes a mental note to remember the man’s face, and to tell on him to Seteth.

Last is Dimitri, who still seems to be riding high from the… she’s taken to calling it the ‘incident’, two weeks prior. His and Edelgard’s relationship is still a bit rocky, what with her, y’know, being hellbent on continent-wide upheaval, but still, it’s going better than it has any right to.

Byleth’s done every mission they had for her. She’s done Ingrid and Dorothea’s little quest, helped out with Sylvain’s reclamation of his family’s heirloom, helped solve the problems plaguing Ignatz and Raphael, and about ten more. She’s helped out whenever she can, she’s stayed back in class and tutored those who needed it…

And it can all come crashing down so effortlessly if today does not go well.

It so often doesn’t.

The tomb is… well, it’s a tomb. It’s depressing and fumy, not to mention dusty and old and clammy. It doesn’t help that she’s currently about as nervous as she can be. Still, Rhea smiles over at her, and motions for her to walk up to the seat at the center of the room. She does so, placing her arms on the armrests and closing her eyes.

This… is the hardest part.

She enters her mindscape rather easily, a thing she’d used to struggle to perform done with a simplicity that undersells how difficult it’d been to master.

 _“Hey.”_ Sothis smiles over at her. _“Guess it’s about that time.”_

_“Yeah…”_

This is all in an effort to survive the five-year jump. She doesn’t relish the idea of being apart from Sothis, but…

It is simply impossible for her to survive without the two of them merging together.

The jump is predetermined. She has taken every path, every little hint of a chance she could think of, but no matter what, she will be knocked out, and five years will pass in the blink of an eye.

Even when she’d tried to run away from it, leaving the Monastery to its own devices for a single lifetime just to see what would happen without her, come the Lone Moon, she’d tripped, fallen, and woken up five years later.

Millenia later, she’s still a bit pissed about that one.

Whatever it is dictating that this must happen, destiny, fate, or perhaps (it’d make sense for her) just a comically large string of bad luck, she cannot manage to overcome it.

The merging of herself and Sothis is not necessarily easy to understand, either. It is… as if she gains a part of the Goddess’ power, but also absorbs her. Sothis, for a while, at least, ceases to be, effectively hibernating inside of her skull.

But such a step _is_ a necessity.

They’ve tried multiple different things to avoid having to merge, but it is inevitably tied to their ability to make the five-year jump. The event that triggers that jump will (and has every time they’ve not merged) kill them both, sending them back to the start.

Whether it’s Thales’ magic, Rhea’s fireballs, a spear from Dimitri, or an arrow from Claude, she’s unable to survive.

And so, she and Sothis have resigned themselves to this fate.

Still, they’ve… found ways around it. Mostly through Sothis’ power as a Goddess.

She’d been able to reform herself rather easily even in Byleth’s first life, coming back at the end to return him back to life. She’s gotten faster since then, culminating in her ability to reform after only two or so months.

Though, obviously, she has some help given that she’s doing that the entire five years Byleth’s asleep.

Their parting is not forever, and the both of them know it as they hold out their hands to one another, palms outstretched.

It still hurts, however.

_“Love you.”_

Sothis’ cheeks glow a faint pink, even as she gives an embarrassed grin.

_“Love you too.”_

And without another word, she disappears into the ether.

Her eyes drift open, and she looks down at her class, who seem awfully confused, and at Rhea, who’s gazing up at her with an expectant look.

“Uhm… is my hair green?”

Rhea seems… not disappointed, but perturbed. “Yes. It is. I take it we are still speaking to Professor Byleth?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” She asks, relishing in the way Rhea cringes for half a second. “I spoke to the Goddess. She and I… combined or something. It was weird.”

At the very least, that news seems to brighten Rhea’s day up somewhat. She walks over and takes Byleth’s hand, helping her out of the throne and back onto the ground.

Of course, that moment is when an arrow nearly strikes her from behind.

Byleth bats it out of the air, her instincts flying back at a heightened rate now that she’s joined with Sothis. Time seems to slow whenever she focuses, and that’s because, well… time actually slows when she focuses.

Being one with the goddess of time has some perks.

Even still… She knows what’s coming now. She curses inwardly, seeing Edelgard in her Flame Emperor outfit step into the mausoleum, the empire around her. Metodey and Randolph are beside her, and though she holds no real ill will for any of them…

Right now, she finds herself wanting to flay them alive.

_“Damnit Edelgard… even with everything you and Dimitri have… you’re still…”_

Such a thing doesn’t exactly surprise her, Byleth’s tricked the girl into loving her more than once, but even in those lifetimes, she has been more than willing to cut her down for the sake of her dream.

Dimitri, on the other hand, is taking this notably less well.

“Wha–” His eyes are wide, and a betrayed look hangs in his eyes. She feels, if he’d been a weaker person, he might fall to his knees then and there, entirely broken. Somehow, he finds the strength to bring up his lance, even past the burning grief on his face.

“Protect the Archbishop!” He rallies the students, and admittedly, even Rhea’s personal guard. “And the crest stones. We cannot allow them to make their way off with either!”

Across the way, Edelgard raises her own arm, axe in hand, and points it at them.

She says nothing.

She does not have to.

\-----

Byleth does her best to get to Edelgard as quickly as possible. This is a battle she knows ends the moment her mask falls off. The Empire will retreat, and they’ll be forced back.

 _“And then they’ll attack.”_ A sinister voice in her own head, one that is most definitely her own insecurities and not, as she’d absently hoped, Sothis, whispers to her.

She ignores it, shaking her head as she makes another nonlethal strike on a soldier before her. It’s not like she’s usually the type to hesitate, but…

Something about today just feels different.

She notices Dimitri is much the same, knocking Metodey down and stabbing him in the arm, but otherwise moving past him. They’re both feeling oddly merciful.

It’s not as if she doesn’t know Edelgard’s the reason, but…

They reach her a moment later.

The Flame Emperor greets them with a more ornate axe than normal. It is not Aymr, but instead, an opulent piece designed, she imagines, entirely for her by a renowned smith. Colored a deep black, and with a titanic size, she imagines the weapon would look intimidating to many.

Dimitri, instead, looks forlorn, broken.

“El…”

Edelgard stiffens, but she shakes her head, drawing up her axe and charging in.

Byleth steps back, intent, instead, to run interference for Dimitri. Edelgard is too heavy in her armor to stand any chance of contesting the Lord of the Blue Lions, which means she only needs to buy the boy time.

_Should take… two or three minutes._

Or at least, that’s what she thinks. Instead, a moment later, Dimitri yells out in abject rage, swinging his lance across Edelgard’s armor and sheering through it, knocking her and her new axe to the floor.

The girl grits her teeth together, making to rise, but before she can Dimitri is already on her, just a bit of the boar inside leaking through.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” He shouts, and it’s the raw emotion there, the tears hanging in his eyes, that Byleth imagines breaks Edelgard’s stern visage. Even behind the mask she wears on her face, she can tell her expression is faltering.

“What I must.”

Edelgard places her foot in Dimitri’s diaphragm, and kicks up, knocking him backwards as she retakes her weapon. Even still, a massive piece of her armor has been blown away, an entire section on her chest.

It’s clear to anyone watching that, normally, Dimitri would defeat her.

And yet, perhaps with the emotional advantage, Edelgard can still grasp victory.

Except it will not be that simple.

From above, a blinding azure light hits Edelgard, an Agnea’s Arrow raining down from the sky, sending her flying backwards. Her armor seems to almost melt off of her, and Edelgard, with the exception of the mask she still holds to her face, is exposed as Rhea walks towards her menacingly, the spell’s power still burning in her outstretched right hand.

Edelgard makes to rise, but she must’ve suffered a rather detrimental injury, for it takes an empire soldier getting in the way of Rhea’s next spell to block it. The man dies, urging Edelgard to flee.

She seems to want to, but she can’t move, she’s trapped, and the last few soldiers who could help her are all deep in their own battles. As Rhea winds up another spell, she debates if she should get in the way of it, if that would be the solution to their current predicament…

But Dimitri takes the choice from her.

His lance is his only defense against Rhea’s Bolganone, which eats away at his uniform and body. The flames lick his skin, his hair, and his spirit, but somehow, he comes out the other end still standing, if limping on the spear in his hands. Rhea, to her credit, immediately lowers her hand.

“Dimitri!?” She asks with some small suspicion. “What are you doing? That is the Flame Emperor, our enemy, they are not to be protected-”

“She’s not… the Flame Emperor…” Dimitri pants out, voice scratchy as he forces himself to stand. He turns back to the girl on the ground, who’s only just managed to stand. “El… please…”

The girl says nothing.

“Tell them… this is a misunderstanding.” He pleads; begs. “I… You can’t just…”

Edelgard looks up at him, and finally, the mask on her face falls down. Rhea gasps, as do a few others, though, pointedly, only Flayn is surprised from the Blue Lions. The others all seem to have figured it out at some point or another.

That none of them spoke to the Archbishop on the matter… they really must’ve trusted Dimitri.

Somehow that makes the hurt on their faces all the worse.

“There is no misunderstanding.” Edelgard says as she rises, supported by Hubert, who comes to her aid and gets underneath her shoulder. “We… the Empire declares war on the Church of Seiros.”

Dimitri’s face is that of a kicked puppy, and really, Byleth wants to give him a hug. He looks like he wants to lash out and scream at her, and travel alongside her on her doomed venture. He looks like he wants to cut Hubert and Rhea down both and protect Edelgard all by himself. And yet, in his indecision, Hubert winds up a Teleportation spell.

“EL, WAIT!”

He’s too late, and by the time his hand, outstretched and reaching, makes it to where Edelgard has just been, she’s already gone.

He falls to his knees, clutching his pants with knuckles that are white with pressure. His face doesn’t move, and he doesn’t so much as blink. Instead, a moment later, a tear falls from his face, and then another.

Before long, Dimitri, perhaps the strongest person Byleth’s ever met, is sobbing on the floor, seeming entirely broken.

\-----

News of the Empire’s ‘betrayal’ hits the Monastery hard, even despite the Black Eagles almost all choosing to side against the empire and with the friends they’d made here. Some do return home to the Empire, and are allowed to do so, given that most, if not all, are civilians, or, at worst, students training to be warriors.

Having fifty ‘soldiers’ exchange hands will not change the tide of the war either way. Especially given it is one they are almost fated to lose.

They’re outnumbered by the Empire’s advanced force (and only that force, discounting the other four main forces it possesses) by a clean five to one. Not an impossible battle… But even if they hold out, another force will take its place.

No one else knows that, of course, but Byleth understands how this will go.

She’s overly stressed as well, given that Sothis is still gone. She doesn’t really realize how much she appreciates the Goddess’ presence until she’s no longer there. She misses her greatly.

And it seems she’s not alone in missing a loved one. Even closing in on the day of the battle, Dimitri is a husk of his usual self. He’s barely eating, and it’s clear from his face that he hasn’t gotten much in the way of sleep either.

It has to have been gutting. Just when he’d been honest with himself about how he feels for his childhood friend… just when he and Edelgard had been the closest they’d ever been in all Byleth’s lifetimes… even still, the girl hadn’t hesitated to throw it all away for her dream.

She both respects and reviles the woman for that.

Recently, more of the latter.

Dimitri’s friends have been trying to bring some cheer back into him, and hell, even Felix seems to have relented ever so slightly, though Byleth imagines he’ll likely never admit to that. Still, none of it’s enough, and come the day of the army arriving at their doorstep, the boy looks no better than he had weeks ago, when the betrayal had been fresh.

And yet, there’s nothing for any of them to do but go to the gates and wait.

The army on their doorstep is one that even she, with her six-thousand-year breadth of fighting experience, couldn’t realistically hold. Commanding every single soldier personally, like she did with her class, maybe, but there’s simply too many for that to be a viable strategy. And, well…

She knows there’ll be no point. Instead, she’s here for one reason, and one reason only.

To try and convince Edelgard to betray Those Who Slither, to convince her to side with Dimitri before her time comes, and she’s locked away for half a decade.

And she has roughly an hour to accomplish that.

As they arrive and take up their positions, she takes stock of the remaining forces.

The Black Eagles, that is, the six remaining members of the Black Eagles, Petra, Bernadetta, Dorothea, Caspar, Lindhardt and Ferdinand, all look uncertain at best. They’re fighting their countrymen, and whether or not said countrymen are waging a war against them for dominance over the continent… Byleth imagines that can’t be easy.

She spots the Golden Deer as well, with Claude at the helm. The man in question is staring, his eyes narrowed, at the oncoming forces, sighing out every once in a while as he runs his hand along the back of his bow, a nervous tick, and one of the very few the boy possesses, largely because Byleth believes he does not realize he has it.

The Blue Lions, on the other hand, look defeated already. Gone is their bastion of leadership and courage, Dimitri, and in his place is a heartbroken individual, doing his best to be here at all. He wears his kingly outfit from the trip two months back… but he doesn’t look nearly as confident as he’d been then, which is saying something, given that that’d been about as nervous as she’d ever seen him.

She walks over to him and tells him a bit of what she plans to do. His face is still unsure, still hesitant, but at the very least, there is a fire inside his eyes, even if it is one of betrayal and solitude.

“Please… Professor… keep yourself safe as well.” He utters quietly, shaking his head. “It… it might be too late for El, but if something happened to you as well…”

His voice trails off, and it hurts even worse knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will believe her dead by the end of the day. So, in an effort to assuage that, she shakes her head.

“Eh, you’ve grown up more than enough on your own.” She smacks his shoulder supportively, trying to bring some spirit back into him. “Besides, it's not too late for anybody. Not if you don't want it to be." She grins his way. "Even if something were to happen to me… I’d be counting on you to bring Edelgard back, alright? Not for me,” She corrects as he opens his mouth, cutting off whatever it is he’d been about to say. “But for yourself. It’s no secret you love her.”

He doesn’t so much as blush, only nodding.

“Remember your allies as well, okay? Don’t forget your friends, just as much as you don’t forget Edelgard. Forge onwards, and don’t give up.” She turns around, inclining her head back to him in what she hopes is a cool-looking farewell. “If the worst should happen… I leave it to you.”

He nods valiantly, and she steps away. She wants that to be the last he gets to see of her, largely because she figures most people don’t get to know what their last words to someone else will be, and she should really take advantage of being able to control that.

It is a small moment of levity, one immediately undercut by the remembrance that Sothis isn’t here to laugh with her about it. Normally, the Goddess would’ve at least rebuked her for her little bit of showmanship.

She sighs as she hears the trumpets signaling Rhea’s arrival blare and turns to the Archbishop as the woman prepares an announcement.

Rhea makes clear their position; they aren’t surrendering. It’s up to her commanders now, and an assortment of Garreg Mach students who man the backlines, to hold the perimeter. Luckily, Edelgard won’t let it come to that. Once she and Rhea are out of the picture, she demands Garreg Mach’s surrender, and the next one in charge, Seteth, gives it without any fuss.

So, the students aren’t in any real danger, aside from in this opening wave.

She intends to handle that herself.

She phases forward, practically blinking out of reality as she spins her blade, letting it whip out and annihilate the initial guard. She is a torrent of steel and fury, taking out some of the building stress within her on the unfortunate men and women tasked with being the opening force. Before they can regroup, she has her personal battalion, Jeralt’s band, assigned to her for this battle, create a phalanx, and charge into the enemy forces from the side.

In the chaos, the remaining soldiers are picked apart like a vulture dealing with the carcass of a boar, and it is onto the next wave.

She makes her way towards Edelgard slowly, batting aside any attempts to stop her. Along the way, Hubert fires a spell at her from what would normally be a blind spot, but when one knows their own blind spots, it quickly becomes a point of strength.

One knows they will be attacked from there.

She blitzes into him, kicking him in the stomach and leaving him reeling as she hops over him.

She’s onto the plains just outside the monastery now, dashing across the greens as she tries to spot Edelgard’s procession. She’ll be guarded by an innumerous force, but it’s one of ceremony and honor, none of them expecting to have to lift a blade, let alone fight. They are the sons and daughters of wealthy nobles, trying to make a name for themselves.

Byleth holds no issue with them, and, knowing that none will challenge her, won’t even bother attacking them. She turns when she sees a force begin to scatter on the edge of her vision. Some people are braying like sheep, scattering as an inward guard forms up.

The actual elite of the Empress’ personal guard are, of course, quite good.

Byleth dashes into them, ignoring the way their blades should, by all accounts, be threats. She doesn’t dare kill them, as it would weaken Edelgard’s position, and possibly have her killed by Those Who Slither if she goes too far.

That had been an interesting thing to figure out in one of her earlier lifetimes, why Edelgard kept dying when she hadn’t done anything to cause it. It turned out the girl needed strong people around her to threaten retaliation, should they try an attack on her life.

She isn’t sure why she’s zoning out, other than because she’s at the end of the initial run of this life. She pirouettes on her toes, spinning elegantly through two soldiers attacks, and striking them in spots that will take them out of the current battle, the backs of their arms, or their shoulders, but wounds they can recover from within days at most.

Still, they won’t be able to defend her quarry.

From just beyond her, Edelgard steps off of her horse, an elegant black stallion that looks to have been bred for its looks, rather than its usage in battle. It is a ceremonious piece if ever she’s seen one, clearly given to her by someone she couldn’t exactly turn down.

“Professor.” The girl speaks, and she can at the very least respect the way the girl’s voice is even, despite everything. “I wish I could say it was good to see you.”

“Likewise.” She speaks calmly.

“I’d ask why you’re here…” The girl’s eyes narrow. “But I think I know well enough. You intend to sway me?”

“That was my intent.”

“Then you needn’t bother.” Edelgard shakes her head. “I cannot be swayed. This path… is all I have left.”

She doesn’t buy that, even if the girl might believe it herself.

“What of your friends from the Monastery? What of the Black Eagles?” Edelgard’s face warps slightly, the tiniest cracks showing through her calm veneer. “And what of Dimitri?” She sees those words have more of an effect on the woman than anything else. “He’s been desolate these past few weeks. Barely eating or sleeping, barely speaking with anyone. He’s back there, you know. Still hoping you’ll change your mind.”

“And I will reiterate once more,” The girl looks her in the eye, and Byleth wants to curse as she sees the absolute seriousness there. “I will not be swayed.”

She grips her sword tighter in her hand, and without Sothis’ calming voice to guide her through this, she’s not sure if she can do a thing to stop it. She could rewind time… but more time dealing with Edelgard’s unfaltering attitude will only cause her to spiral even further into anger, causing her to do worse.

Even still, she’s somehow surprised when Edelgard’s eyes widen, and she dashes forward, bringing her axe up and striking what looks to be her left side.

_“Hah… she’s coming right for me. Guess I’ll need to pulse after-”_

Before she can finish that thought, the sound of steel meeting steel echoes out off to her left, and she dodges to the side, realizing that someone has managed to sneak up on her.

Thales’ blade, a dagger if she’s being generous with its size, had been poised to cut into her left flank…

And Edelgard had stopped it.

“We had a deal.” Edelgard growled out. “You left the students and staff unharmed if I cooperated.”

“A deal?” Thales smirks. “Child, your authority is as nothing. Besides, she has reneged on the terms of our agreement, coming down and trying to kill one of our own.”

_“What’s…”_

“I wasn’t one of yours yesterday, what’s changed since then?”

“What’s changed?” Thales laughs, an honest to Goddess laugh. “What’s changed is that by counting you as one of us, I get to break the terms of our agreement while technically upholding them.” He gets in close to her face. “Now do be a dear… and get out of my way!”

Edelgard is blasted back by a black magic Byleth feels she’d normally be able to identify, but she’s too shocked by the events that’ve unfolded to do anything as he begins charging a spell and aims it at her.

Edelgard… she’d given up everything, her school, her status, and the people she loved… to protect them…

Something that they hadn’t needed at all.

That’s hindsight speaking, though. Edelgard had no way of knowing that not a single one of them would be killed. Only through her repeats had she managed to gain that information. Edelgard wouldn’t have been able to know if their lives would be safe, had she been to betray Those Who Slither…

And so, she hadn’t.

It made sense. Placed alongside her own dream of remaking the continent into something greater, that fear would’ve made for a potent motivator. Against, what, the thought that maybe if she betrays her only goal for her entire life, she _might_ be able to live happily alongside her friends?

From her point of view, it makes a sickening amount of sense to continue as if nothing had changed.

But…

Things had undoubtedly changed. Dimitri and Edelgard’s progression, from friends, to something more, Byleth and Sothis’ still growing bond, and so many other things. She’ll once again lose all of it when this lifetime ends. And…

That hurts.

Dimitri’s heart shattered, Edelgard’s decision made, and her own hopes deserted, she looks up into Thales’ spell with a timeworn sigh.

It is launched at her slowly, giving her more than enough time to follow its approach. Edelgard screams, shouts for her to avoid it… but she knows what time it is now.

It’s time for her to sleep.

The spell hits, and her world burns, and yet, even still, as the earth splits beneath her, and she falls into what seems to be a bottomless chasm, she finds the only true pain she feels is in her heart.

And as the darkness hits… she gives into its embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! Cliffhangers!
> 
> Anyways, hello all, good to see you. Back from my allotted wrist-break (My break from using my wrists, not a break in my wrists, that was poorly phrased) and ready to write this fic once more!
> 
> So, reached the end of the First Part, which leaves only timeskip to go! My theory is that there's six real chapters left, and an epilogue after that that'll help wrap things up. Not too terribly long. Could end up being one more or less in either direction, though I'd lean towards less if I'm being honest. We'll certainly see.
> 
> Anyways, let me know about what you thought of this chapter, and all of the stuff that's come up thus far, I always love hearing from everyone!
> 
> Okay, that's all from me, see you all in (roughly) a week and some change!


	8. The Green Glow of Resurrection

Byleth’s eyes flutter open gradually, taking their time to adjust to the green, glowing light off in the distance. It is an almost ethereal glow, one that somehow screams that it is not of this world.

Which, unless she’s dead, doesn’t make a lot of sense.

It takes her another few seconds to put the pieces together, and when she does, she can’t help feeling like a bit of an idiot.

 _“Oh.”_ She realizes. _“I’m dreaming.”_

The space is not an overwhelmingly complex one to describe, but she’s out of it at best, still reeling from what Edelgard’s decision had wrought back… what’s likely now five years back.

Funnily enough, she can’t remember the last time she had a dream that hadn’t been about the past. She’d dreamed of her first life with Edelgard, and the lifetime she’d spent with Kronya, but something like this, just a vision her mind conjures up in the middle of the night… it’s almost refreshing.

She tries to sit up but finds her body almost entirely unresponsive to her commands. The most she can do is turn her head towards the light in the distance, trying to make out exactly what is might be.

Her eyes widen as she sees a figure she doesn’t recognize.

Grace and elegance are the first words that come as she watches the woman step slowly towards her. Her hair is a green rather similar to that of a Nabatean, if, admittedly, a shade or so darker. If anything, Byleth thinks it matches her own rather well. The angelic figure wears a rather simply white dress, one that seems a cross between a wedding dress and funeral attire.

She opens her mouth to speak, but Byleth cannot hear a thing when her lips begin to move. She feels as if words are pouring out from within it, yet even still, the woman begins to quite literally fade from reality.

She feels… an intense melancholy. Something indescribable as she looks the woman in the eye. The expression in her orbs is something she can’t quite understand, as dazed and confused as she is, but…

But it makes her feel relaxed… makes her feel like everything’s going to be okay.

 _“A dream.”_ She has to remind herself. _“This is all just a dream”_

Because… for some strange reason…

It doesn’t feel much like a dream.

\-----

Her eyes shoot open.

She sits up instantly, cracking her back in quite a painful manner as she gasps for breath.

She looks down at her body, notes the lack of any real injury (or, more than likely, notes that her body has had five years to heal any and all injuries on her) and sits up.

She’s dug her hand into a bit of silt and sand at the very edge of a river that snakes through what she can only imagine is Kingdom country. Though, to be fair, at this point, it may very well be Empire territory.

In the distance, a ways away, she can make out Garreg Mach.

So, she has not gone too far.

She’s floated down the river after being flung into that chasm, she imagines, and then washed ashore. How that’d taken five whole years to happen…

She never really questions that. For all she knows, she simply ceases to be for five years while Sothis is off doing who knows what.

 _“Sothis,”_ She calls out to her Goddess. _“You there?”_

There’s no response, and she sighs as she makes her way up the hillside and spots a village quite close. She tries not to let the girl’s absence bother her, even if she does completely fail.

Funnily enough, she knows this place.

She makes sure to walk slowly as she makes her way towards the village, not wanting to put any extreme amount of pressure on her newly awakened muscles. The Sword of the Creator, or, she supposes, its sublime version, rests on her hip, somehow not robbed or taken despite being a valuable artifact attached to the hip of a dead woman.

She doesn’t question that either, it certainly helps that she doesn’t need to go track her blade down.

When she makes it to the village, which she figures has to have sprung up in the intervening years while she’s asleep, she looks up at the sign hanging above it and feels the tiniest bit of mirth at the name.

Newville.

_“Yeah, I suppose that’s about right.”_

She’s questioned by a man she vaguely recognizes from a few other lifetimes. He’s the one who greets her when she awakens at the Monastery, well, occasionally, since she doesn’t always come exactly here.

Still, he’d been the one to see her, well, _him,_ back during _his_ first lifetime.

It’s at least enough to put a small smile on her face as she lets him know her intent, to head towards Garreg Mach. The man doesn’t exactly seem worried, but then again, he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with her decision either.

“You should be careful, Miss.” He warns her as he steps away, not attempting to stop her. “Some dangerous folks make a home of that place. They’re not enemies, but… well, I’d watch you don’t make an enemy of ‘em, if you know what I mean. Some folks tried to rob the place a while back…” He gives a small chuckle. “Well, they didn’t last very long.”

With those few ominous words in hand, she begins her journey.

\-----

She can’t lie; the Monastery’s got a different vibe when she approaches it. It’s missing one of its spires, the structure having clearly been knocked down by a siege weapon of some kind, and there are multiple holes in the stone walls that seem to have been patches with whatever had been lying around at the time.

Still, the state of the Monastery isn’t the issue she’s worried about. She’s here for Dimitri, at the end of the day, and for the rest of her class. If he’s split from them, then they’ll come to support him as he clears out the bandits surrounding the Monastery…

But it doesn’t sound like that. Judging by what the man from earlier had said, a group had holed itself up in these walls, and is rather feared by bandits and their ilk. It seems, however, from his general good nature about them, that they’re friendly with, or at least don’t bother with, the villagers.

As she approaches the gates to the entrance, she hears a soft click. It’s the only warning she receives before she’s dodging to the right.

A net, one concealed in such a manner that not even she’d noticed it, fires up where she’d just been standing. She hadn’t quite been expecting traps, but she’d been expecting the several armed guards surrounding her even less.

“Halt there, intruder!” The apparent leader of this little band calls out to her. She notices his uniform first and foremost, a rich combination of blue and gold. “Identify yourself and be brought before our leader.”

“Not or?” She questions, noting the sneers on the guards faces.

“No. Not or.” The guard captain reiterates. “You will face him. Whether you go willingly or not is your only choice.”

“And if I were to, say,” She places a hand on the sword on her hip. “Take down the lot of you?”

A few gulp, but none make a move. Clearly, some here can see the skill she carries, though notably, the captain still looks unphased.

“You’d be hard-pressed to defeat us, surely, but even harder-pressed to challenge even one of our commanders.” The man smirks. “They are the most fearsome warriors this side of the continent. You’d not last a minute against any of them.”

He’s boasting to intimidate her, sure, and she knows that because she knows what he’s said is false. She’s the strongest warrior _on_ this continent, but still, he doesn’t know that.

So, who’d be strong enough to warrant that level of boasting?

She has a decent idea at this point.

Before any battle can break out, the gates to Garreg Mach creak. Most of the heads turn, and in that moment, she could’ve cut down the lot of them with a single movement. Honestly, they’re rank amateurs, minus the captain himself.

Still, she doesn’t attack, or even really consider it, largely because of the beaming smile on her face as she sees who comes out.

“Captain Walter, I believe I was clear when I said we wouldn’t be using nets?” The woman, for she truly had grown in the five years since Byleth had last seen her, looked towards the captain with a put-upon sigh. “You can’t possibly mean to tie up and interrogate every single civilian who comes by, can you?”

“Well… commander…” The man coughs awkwardly, clearly cowed. “I… that is to say…”

“I’m sure I won’t be seeing any more nets placed outside where any civilians could easily get themselves stuck?” The woman asks.

“No… you won’t, ma’am.” The man bows, before taking a step back and allowing the new arrival to step up and look at her for the first time.

The platinum blonde woman’s eyes go wide, wider than she’s seem them this lifetime. The shock within them is tempered only by experience, and as she steps forward, disbelief warring with hope as she stands only a foot or so apart from Byleth, gazing up into her eyes, she herself can’t help the smile blossoming even further across her face.

“Professor?” Mercedes, now twenty-seven years old, asks skeptically. “But… you’re…”

“Dead?” She smiles down at the girl, feeling the desolate fear and rage that’d been pooling within her on her way here gradually fade away. A joke finds its way onto her tongue, and she doesn’t even try and stop it. “Yes, you’re correct. I am an undead revenant, here to collect that homework none of you turned in. Surrender it or perish.”

Mercedes eyes widen, even as tears build up within them. She laughs, an airy, freeing thing that seems to calm all in the vicinity. Her giggles gradually descend into cackles, and Byleth isn’t afraid to admit that it’s an incredibly adorable display.

“Well,” Mercedes wiped at her eye. “I hope you’ll manage to forgive us, for, on account of their being a war on at the time, I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Eh, I guess I’ll get over it.” She smirks. “Good to see you, Mercedes.”

“No, it’s so good to see _you_ , Professor!” The woman leans in, hugging Byleth against her as she lets out another cheerful laugh, seemingly filled with nothing but joy. “I can’t believe it’s really you. When you disappeared during the battle, well… we all assumed the worst.”

“I could be some spy in disguise, y’know.” She points out, watching as the girl in front of her pouts and glares. “What? It’s true.”

“A spy wouldn’t have told a joke that horrible.”

“Ouch.” She groans. “I mean, you’re right, but ouch.”

“Now, c’mon!” Mercedes takes her hand, pulling her towards the Monastery. “I think there are some people who’d like to see you.”

She smiles.

“I think I’d like to see them, too.”

\-----

The halls are as they’ve always been, which is more of a relief than she’d been expecting.

They are not as rundown as they are when Dimitri has become a husk of himself, or when the Blue Lions have scattered to the corners of the earth, only reconvening, conveniently, as she awakens.

No, there’s been work done to restore this place, which bodes well for her theory on just who she should be expecting.

She spots a few familiar faces on her way to what she assumes is the war room. Shamir gives her a once over, before nodding her head and going about her business, and though Catherine sighs, letting out a quiet “damn, you’re still kicking?”, Byleth sees the small upturn of the woman’s lips.

Mercedes does, in fact, take her into the central building, and up to the second floor. There, they take a few hallways, and arrive exactly where Byleth had been expecting.

Mercedes gives her point, letting her enter inside first.

She shrugs and pushes open the wooden doors.

A few heads turn to her, even as most of the other continuing talking. Those who see her go white as a sheet, Sylvain, Annette, and Ashe. The others, Dedue, Felix, Ingrid, Flayn, and Dimitri, are all still wrapped up in whatever conversation they’d been having.

It is Sylvain, naturally, who breaks the calm order of the scene.

“Holy shit!” He shouts, toppling his chair as he erupts upward. “Professor!?”

That seems to catch the others attention rather well.

Its Dimitri’s eyes she decides to meet, as he looks up at her with disbelief, an emotion that quickly morphs into abject shock, she can’t help the amused grin that surfaces on her face.

“Yo.” She exclaims rather casually. “Been a while, everyone.”

Ingrid and Sylvain swarm her, practically having to shove Dimitri out of the way, and by practically, she does mean quite literally in the redhead’s case. Dedue approaches next, offering her a curt nod, but a warm smile, one she returns.

Flayn calls Seteth in almost immediately, pointing up at her without any words, as if to emphasize her presence. Seteth, to his credit, looks minorly surprised at best. A quick “good to see you”, and a bow, and he’s back out into the Monastery, doing whatever is required of him.

Ashe has been awfully patient, so it doesn’t really surprise her when he brings her into a crushing hug. She’s not sure what it means for her enemies that she takes more damage to her overall constitution from the hugs she’s been receiving today than she’d taken in battle all year.

Probably that they’re quite shit.

When Dimitri finally manages to reach her, he’s panting, having quite literally shoved every other member out of the way, his expression gradually morphs from disbelief to cool laughter. He is… not entirely the same person she’d seen five years prior, and yet she can tell he hasn’t had so drastic a change either.

War has hardened him, as it has them all, but even still, they’ve persisted.

All in all, chaos reigns for a good fifteen minutes, during which time, she finds her chest so light she briefly fears she’ll start floating.

It’s… bliss, seeing them all together.

After answering questions about how the hell she survived (she parrots to all of them that she has no idea, but she leaves them with the idea that merging with the Goddess might’ve come with some perks, which they seem to accept without much difficulty) she gets to questioning them about what they’ve been up to.

Dimitri answers for the rest of them.

“Well… we won’t lie, things were hard after the battle.” He begins, and through the others nods, she gathers he’s not exactly being dramatic. “El demanded our surrender, and Seteth gave it once the Archbishop was captured. She… I don’t know. She turned into some… odd, dragon-like creature.”

_“Ah, so they saw that.”_

Dimitri shakes his head, as if he himself doesn’t quite believe his own memories.

“Next thing we knew, we were being ordered to leave Garreg Mach. I think…” Dimitri sighs. “I think that was El’s best way of getting us to safety. She took most of the Black Eagles along with her, and I haven’t heard much from any of them since, other than news from the front.”

“There’s a front?” She asks, wanting to be as informed as possible.

“Mhm.” Dimitri pokes a map in the middle of the table, where, true to his word, a couple of diagrams that look to be describing battlefields are set up. Blue for allied forces, she imagines, and red for enemy. There’re a couple yellow ones as well, though no points are being awarded to anyone guessing who those belong to. “Right now, we’ve got our primary line stationed a few miles back of Gronder, trying to make headway into Empire territory.”

“You’re invading the Empire?” Her eyebrows shoot up.

“It’s been slow-going, especially with Those Who Slither being far less… subtle about their connections to the Empire lately.” Dimitri turns to her, tilting his head when he sees the confused look on her face. “What’s the matter?”

“You know their name?”

“Well, it’s not really their name.” Dimitri admits, blushing slightly. “But yes, Edelgard told me. This was… a few days after the uhm… incident.”

“When you two had sex.” Sylvain groans, the timeworn groan of someone who’s definitely had to say that before. “Just say it. You’re both adults, you’re allowed.”

Dimitri blushes much, much harder, but nods.

“For a few days after we got back to the Monastery, she was feeding me as much information on them as she could.” Dimitri sighs. “Looking back, she was clearly trying to prepare me for her having to go with them, but… but I’m choosing to believe that means she’s on our side, at least in spirit.”

Felix sneers.

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.” He gestures vaguely to the map. “Her generals have set up a damned fortress of a perimeter. Breaching it, even through Gronder, isn’t going to be easy.”

“Well, it’s not like she can just throw the war to make them lose,” Annette argues, apparently having been emboldened in the half-decade since Byleth’d last seen her. “She’d be killed.”

“And she’d save thousands of soldiers dying daily to try and break her formations.” Felix shrugs. “What makes her life worth more than theirs?”

No one can answer the man, and he clicks his tongue, before crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He waves absently for them to continue.

“What about the Kingdom?” She asks, trying to segue the conversation back in a healthy direction, and choosing anywhere but Edelgard seems a pretty good start. “How are affairs there?”

“Well,” Sylvain points to where those same red and blue formations are in the Kingdom. “We’re currently in the midst of a small, tiny, almost insignificant civil war.”

Her eyebrows shoot up once more, and she turns to Dimitri, silently _begging_ for some context.

“Well, it’s complicated as to how that started, really.” The Lord gives a small laugh, one which none of the others return, instead glaring straight at him. “I had an… let’s call it an ‘idea’-”

“A stupid idea.” Ingrid mutters.

“That maybe,” Dimitri continues on, unabated. “I knew who the TWS agent in our Kingdom was.”

Byleth, once more, finds herself stunned.

_“How much did they get up to without me!?”_

“You figured out there was an agent in the Kingdom?”

Dimitri looks at her, seeming awfully confused. “Was… that supposed to be a secret? You as good as told me there was.”

She tries to recall her conversation with him and Edelgard from all those moons ago. Memory comes slowly, and when she finally does, it doesn’t add up.

“No, I said I didn’t know if there was one. I didn’t want you getting involved with them.” She admits. “How did you figure it out?”

“Uhm… Professor, no offense, but when I asked if there were any agents in the Kingdom, you went silent for about ten seconds before saying “not that I know of” in the most obviously suspicious way I’ve ever heard.” He smiles a bit bashfully. “I honestly thought you were sending me a coded message, just a bit badly.”

She blushes as she looks away from the boy.

_“Okay, so, note to self, not as good at lying as I think I am.”_

The other’s all give a small laugh at her expense, which she doesn’t mind too terribly much. It’s her punishment for failing to notice something so obvious.

“So,” she asks when she feels she should probably say something. “Who’s this agent?”

“Cornelia.” He speaks, confirming her suspicions. “That was the conclusion I’d come to, observing her back in the Kingdom for a good two years. She just seemed… overwhelmingly suspicious. She’d disappear for days at a time, then pop back up like nothing had happened. Her mood would change considerably as well, and she treated a lot of the help, help who’d been around since she was a young mage spending her days in the castle helping the sick, like dirt.”

She nods, letting him continue.

“They told me, in private, of course, that she never used to act like that. When I asked why she changed, they said it just… happened one day. One day she was as nice as she’d always been, she’s gone a week or two, and then comes back… changed.” He looks to her, his eyes narrowed. “Ring any bells?”

“Monica.” She speaks, and Dimitri nods. “You got all of that from Kronya?”

“She helped, sure, but I had my suspicions about her even when I was young.” Dimitri laughs. “She always scared me when I was a kid, and my dad would always tell me to watch myself around her. I think even he could see it, but… well…” He shakes his head, sighing. “That’s beside the point. I had my suspicions, so I acted on them.”

“One day, I invited Cornelia out to a… well, let’s call it a work associates dinner-”

“Didn’t tell a single one of us about this, mind you.” Sylvain says to her, glaring back at Dimitri once more.

“She and I attended alone-”

“She, of course, brought back-up from Those Who Slither.” Ingrid informs her.

“And I went for it. I called her out in the gardens of the castle, because at the end of the day, there wasn’t any real risk if I was wrong.”

“Yes,” Dedue, this time, shoots Dimitri a look. “Only a danger if you were, as you suspected, correct.”

“Entirely beside the point.” Dimitri argues.

“It’s not,” Flayn assures him. “But sure, continue.”

Dimitri laughs nervously, before doing just that.

“She fired a spell at me, and at that point, I had all the evidence I needed to attack her back.”

“Problem, of course, is that this idiotic cur didn’t have any backup, so he was horribly outnumbered by over fifteen enemy agents,” Felix practically hisses. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, well,” Dimitri coughs awkwardly. “If you could all leave me alone on this. It was three years ago. I’ve gotten smarter since then.”

Sylvain leans in close to Byleth, getting into whispering distance.

“He hasn’t.”

She nods sympathetically.

“Anyways,” Dimitri segues rather crudely, glaring at all of them, even as Mercedes gives a small chuckle at his expense. “I fought her off. She fled with the survivors, and they’ve been in hiding ever since. She’s still leading them, but she’s doing so in exile, without nearly as much power. From what I hear, with the houses of the Kingdom at least mostly united, with only a select few serving Cornelia from the shadows, we’re only a few months out from fully retaking the Kingdom.”

“It’s a shame,” Annette sighs sadly as she looks down at the table. “I doubt she’s the great Cornelia of legend. It’s likely the real woman was killed and replaced by some agent of Those Who Slither.”

Byleth had come to a similar conclusion a long time ago.

“I hope she rests in peace.” Mercedes shakes her head. “She, Monica, and the real Tomas as well.”

The rest of them nod.

“That being said, Professor,” Dimitri turns to her, still somehow at a loss that she’s standing here before them. “Our current plans have very little to do with the Kingdom at all. We’ve set ourselves on freeing the Empire from the clutches of Those Who Slither, and on reclaiming the Archbishop who’s been kidnapped. That means we’ll need to march on Embarr.”

She gets that, nodding along. If she’s right, she already understands what it is they mean to do,

“If we’re right, then the remnants of Edelgard’s Black Eagles, along with several important Church figures, and the Archbishop herself, are being held in the main keep of the Imperial Castle.” Sylvain points to the large, red structure set up on the war-map. “That’s our target but marching on it won’t be easy. It’ll take two months of trudging through the wilderness on its own to get there, not to mention the battles that’ll likely be fought on our way. We’re estimating more along the lines of four or so months before we reach the capital.”

That lines up with how long they normally take.

A thought occurs to her, something she’s thought to do before, but still, something she thinks might be appropriate here.

The others keep talking for a few moments, seemingly unsure of what they want to do, but she interrupts them by clearing her throat. They turn to her with confusion written all over their faces, which is fair, given they’ve no idea what she’s about to say.

“I have something to tell you all.” She admits, and watches as they all turn to each other, exchanging shrugs. “About Those Who Slither in the Dark, their plans, aspirations and strengths…”

“I’ll tell you all that I know.”

\-----

When she’s finished a good hour and a half later, having basically held a rather length question & answer session, her students sit slumped in their chairs, flabbergasted.

“The destruction of Fódlan itself…” Ingrid speaks under her breath, in a way that says she almost can’t believe it. “And they’d go that far off of… what, a grudge?”

“They seem awfully petty.” Sylvain jokes, but there’s none of his usual mirth present within his words. “Holding onto it for a good 1200 years…”

“And reviving the King of Liberation!?” Ashe seems the most bothered by that, probably since he’d been brought up on old stories. The name Nemesis likely means something to him. “It feels like we’ve stepped out of a fairytale.”

“How did you come across this information, Professor?” Flayn asks, and Byleth can sort of see why she’d be concerned about that, since, given she’s just told them the history of the Agarthans and Nabataens, it’s probably not crazy to think she might know the girl’s true identity. “Was it a library, or…?”

“From a TWS agent themselves.” She admits. “Like I said to Dimitri a few years back, I’d run into them in the past. They’d run from the organization and were trying to do anything they could to keep themselves safe, even spill their guts to some mercenaries who’d found them.”

“What happened to this person, Professor?”

She smiles.

“First off, you guys do realize you don’t need to call me Professor anymore, right?”

They all give a chorus of “meh’s”.

“Old habits.” Dedue gives a ghostly smile.

“Fine, fine,” She shakes her head. “And if you must know, they passed away. A snowstorm got them, and they died due to our lack of medical knowledge.”

Everyone looks a bit saddened by that, though Byleth thinks that Kronya, the girl she'd been referring to who’d given her the most insight into the way Those Who Slither functioned (even if most of the information on the war and ancient grudge itself she’d given her class had come from Sothis), would probably be offended to have some bratty kids worry about her.

She misses the little troublemaker

_“I wonder what she’s up to… Hopefully alive.”_

She misses the _other_ little troublemaker as well. _Her_ little troublemaker.

_“Anytime you want to reform would be great, Sothis.”_

She shakes her head as she turns back to the rest of them, but pays especially close attention to Dimitri, who looks to be thinking hard on the information they’ve just been given.

“It won’t be easy.” He admits. “If we intend to go to battle against an organization with such large roots… then there’s not too high of a chance that we can actually exterminate them for good. They’ll slink away and show back up the next time they think they have the advantage, likely long after we’re all dead.”

That’s certainly true. TWS are like cockroaches, even in the lifetimes where Edelgard or Claude had put them to rest, the surviving members, and there’d always been some, had gone into hiding, playing on their ancient history to retreat into the darkness.

Even with her expertise, she’d been unable to find more than a few of them.

“So, the road we’ve chosen is a difficult one.” Felix snorts. “What else is new? We’ll handle this like we always do and come out victorious.”

The others sweat drop at that, though, notably, none correct him. He’s said what they’re all thinking, just in a blunt and overly confident way.

“So… El was being manipulated since she was only a child?” Dimitri looks to her.

“It’s likely that when she left the Kingdom… they began their experiments on her.”

He grits his teeth together, slamming a hand down on the table, and thanks to his overwhelming strength, the wood bows, splintering right down the middle and collapsing in on itself. The map and figurines go scattering to the ground.

“Er…” Dimitri looks at the rest of them. “My apologies.”

“That’s the fourth one this month.” Ashe sighs. “I’m not getting this one. The lumbermen almost had my head the last time I told them we needed a new table.”

“Not it.” Sylvain smirks.

The rest say the same with varying degrees of mirth, worry, concern, and guilt.

“I’ll go and retrieve it, then.” Dedue makes to stand, but Dimitri’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No.” Dimitri sighs. “I’ll go get the new table when we’ve finished.”

Dedue looks to want to complain, but instead sighs, sitting back down.

“In that case, Professor, our mission is even more righteous than before.” Their leader continues.

“Not that it was really in doubt.” Ingrid comments absently. “We’re rescuing Edelgard from those people… or… well, we’re saving Edelgard. Not sure if she really wants us to take her, so maybe we’re more… kidnapping Edelgard for her own sake?”

“Probably best just to not think about it.” Ashe pats her on the shoulder.

Ingrid just frowns.

“Whether or not she wants to be saved doesn’t matter.” Dimitri looks to all of them, sharing a small moment of eye-contact with each member of the Blue Lions. “We’ll save her, and we’ll save this continent. We’ll stop Those Who Slither in the Dark, and we’ll win this war.”

The others all smile, nodding their heads in succession.

“And then… El and I… we can be together again.”

Everyone rolls their eyes at that one, though Sylvain seems to see some prime teasing material.

“Edelgard this, Edelgard that. I mean, I get she dumped you in some shitty circumstances, but man, you sure you’re not holding onto her a bit harder than she is to you?”

Dimitri bristles slightly.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Sylvain, in a showy performance of being a good friend, which none of them, including Byleth herself, believe, steps forward, and slings and arm around Dimitri’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, big guy… I’m sure she wasn’t faking it the whole time.”

Byleth’s mouth falls open, even as her eyes widen into dinnerplates.

Dimitri, somehow, doesn’t kill Sylvain for that comment, which she thinks is a showing of just how good of a person he must be right now. Instead, he merely turns his head, inclining it towards his friend with narrowed eyes.

“I’ll give you five seconds to run.”

Sylvain gives a nervous laugh, his arm still around the man’s shoulder.

“Can I have ten?”

“4.”

“Got it, running.”

Sylvain breaks away, shooting out of the war room like a bat out of hell. Dimitri stands with a small sigh, before he cracks his neck, and gives chase.

She can hear several screams, some less manly than others, emerge from what she can only assume is a pursued Sylvain echoing down the corridor. To be fair, no one rises to help him, on account that he got himself into this situation.

He can damn well get himself out.

She finds mirth building in her stomach, and when she opens her mouth, laughter pours out. Mercedes gives a quiet chuckle, and Felix can only roll his eyes and follow the two ‘idiots’ as he calls them.

Ashe just sighs.

“I’ll go get the table.”

It should be an embarrassing moment, and in some small way it is. Yet the laughter, the cackling sounds, don’t stop emanating from within her, because… because it _had_ mattered. Her words had made a difference, her efforts hadn’t gone unrewarded. Her talking with Dimitri had helped him face himself in the years to come. Edelgard’s and Dimitri’s conversations, their friendship and love, had affected the world.

And yet, at the end of the day, that’s not the real reason she’s laughing. Really, truly, she’s laughing because… well…

It’s just such a relief to be back.

\-----

They suit up the following morning, and she slots back into their well-practiced formations with ease.

Dimitri has set these up, taking her advice on most of his strategies. She can see influence from the others in almost all aspects as well. Ingrid’s more conservative approach in the way their frontline is slanted not outwards, but inwards, letting the outer edges hit the enemies formations first, bottlenecking them in. Felix’s influence as well, in how there are certain sections that seem to emphasize a single warrior, or a small group of warriors, charging into the enemy force and causing chaos.

She likes to think the Fraldarius heir had gotten that technique from her.

Even still, she watches as thousands of soldiers are loaded into carriages, preparing to march towards Embarr.

Though first, they will have to cross through the site that holds the record for ruined lifetimes…

Gronder Field.

Such a site is nothing to look at, a mostly barren field with some barricades and other objects set up, meant to simulate a theater of war for children to practice it upon.

Perhaps ironically, it serves as an awfully deadly one itself.

Still, for now, she can only shake her head, and turn to the boy who’s walked up beside her. Dimitri looks calm and confident, though she can tell from the way his hands shake that said emotion is at least partially a ruse. It’s awfully cold, however, cresting the end of the winter moons, so she supposes it makes sense.

“I find myself wondering even still how you managed to survive, notwithstanding how you alluded us for over half a decade.” He turns to her, his eyes suspicious, but not overly so. “Would you mind filling me in, Professor?”

“What makes you think I know?” She questions absently, watching as the Blue Lions themselves are loaded into three carriages.

“Intuition.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” He smirks at her. “Mine has gotten awfully proficient in the years since you’ve seen me. I’ve grown quite a lot.”

“And you didn’t bring this up around the others why?”

“Because I figured you probably didn’t want to tell us.”

“Yet you’re asking anyways?”

“I think it’s important.”

“Why?”

His eyes dance with mirth as he shoots her a sideways smile.

“Intuition.”

She lets out a small laugh.

“Touché.” She gives a playful sigh. “Fine then, I suppose I’d might as well come clean.”

She fills him in on Sothis’ assistance, not entirely (she tells him nothing of how the Goddess has always been in her head, but gives a more… Rhea-fied version of the story, in that she’s only technically lying out of her ass) but enough to let him understand that through the Goddess’ power, she’d been… resurrected.

“That’s…” Dimitri pauses for a moment, before shaking his head. “Well, if you end up seeing her again, inform her that she has my thanks for saving your life.”

And then, without warning, Dimitri brings her into a tight hug.

“Thank you. Professor.” His voice is partially muffled in her shoulder. “For coming back to us.”

Her hands hang in the air, and she’s not quite sure what to do with them. She feels her ribcage may give up on her at any moment, but even still, she finds the strength to wrap her own arms around the man’s back.

“What you said to me the day you disappeared…” He looks into her eyes as he breaks away. “That… that allowed me to keep going. A reminder of what I _hadn’t_ yet lost… and _couldn’t_ afford to allow myself to lose… it was the kick in the ass I needed. Er… pardon my language.”

She giggles quietly.

“Y’know, you’re, what, twenty-two now?”

“Twenty-three. My birthday was the twentieth of the Ethereal Moon last year.”

“Then even more reason you’re very much allowed to swear.”

He blushes slightly.

“Well… it’s hardly a very kingly thing to do.”

She laughs outright this time.

“Yeah, I suppose it’s not.”

A horn rings out across the Monastery, and she knows, innately, that the time to march has come.

“We’re leaving the Monastery…” Dimitri shakes his head. “That’s… insane to think about. It’s been our base of operations… our home… for two years now, leaving aside the year we spent here half a decade ago. Now… we march for Embarr, and we won’t return until we’ve finished our mission.”

She elbows him playfully.

“Getting cold feet?”

“Would you begrudge me if I said yes?”

“No,” She smiles as she looks towards the front of the formation, sees the Blue Lions, practically members of her family, preparing to march to war, and feels a creeping dread begin to build within her chest.

“I find myself rather terrified as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird that some chapters of this story cover like two or three months, whereas others, like this one, take place over only a day or two.
> 
> Anyways, as you might've seen, this chapter is much, much shorter than usual, by about 4000 words. That's because... well, really, because I didn't have anything else to write, and didn't want to start Gronder until next chapter. But also because my wrists have been hurting, so I have been writing less.
> 
> Shouldn't affect too much, but with League of Legends' Worlds coming in three days, expect the next chapter... maybe two or three weeks from now instead. I've got a friend visiting as well... so yeah, it honestly might be a full month even.
> 
> HOPEFULLY it won't be, though.
> 
> Anyways, see you all when I see you!


	9. Their War at Gronder, and Secrets Best Kept

Byleth finds herself breathing hot air into her hands as the weather briefly dips into a chilling cold. It’s a bit unexpected, given it’s the Lone Moon, but not terribly so.

She looks out upon the fields beyond her, sees the armies marching towards a single, desolate location, and finds a pit opening in her stomach. Five years prior, it had been the sight of a battle held for fun and tradition; a way for the youth of the world to show their bonds, their evolution from the wars of the past, while competing in friendly rivalry.

Now, it would be the sight of the deadliest battle of a new war, as all three sides come to a head.

Even still, something bothers Byleth about the goings on of this particular trip to Gronder.

They’re a month early.

Such a thing has no real significance; it will not change the lives of the men and women about to die for their countries today, and it will not give her any advantage or tactical prowess. The only thing it does it mess with her head.

She’s chosen to ally herself with the Blue Lions, which means that this event should be happening around the Great Tree Moon.

She sighs, having to remind herself that, at the end of the day, it matters not.

Idly, she finds herself drawn into her headspace, reaching out once more for the Goddess who should, by all accounts, be present by now.

 _“Sothis?”_ She calls out for the girl.

For perhaps the third time that day, she receives no reply.

She tries not to let it bother her. Needless to say, it doesn’t work.

It’s possible, hell, probable that Sothis has merely been held up somehow. There’s been complications with her revival that need extra attention, or she’s simply sleeping in…

She focuses on easy excuses, instead of asking deeper, more terrifying questions.

_“What if she’s gone, what if I can never see her again, what if I-”_

She forces herself back to calm.

This isn’t like her. This… panicking like a small child. Sothis has been absent for months and months at a time, hell, in Byleth’s first lifetime, she’d been gone until _his_ death. It isn’t crazy that such a thing could happen again. She can manage without her patron goddess for a lifetime if needs be…

She tells herself that, at least.

She focuses instead on those riding along with her in her carriage. The Blue Lions are all here, minus Dimitri, who, for the general integrity of their army, rides separately from his commanders.

She studies some of her students expressions, sees the doubt within them, and resolves herself.

She will protect them all, and not just the ones sitting here, either. Somewhere else, Shamir, Catherine, Seteth, Manuela, Hanneman, and Cyril all ride together. Alois heads the guards at the front, and even sweet Marianne, who she’d not had the chance to see when she’d first arrived back at the Monastery, is attending the back of the formation with the other healers. She will serve under Mercedes, acting as a secondary commander should something happen to the older woman.

Everyone is accounted for, and she’s been sure to do some of the tasks her students had left for her on their way here as well, stopping by in nearby provinces and forests to free villages, take back territory, and even invade a dark and haunted forest to help put down Maurice.

They’d met up with several figures along the way. Rodrigue had shown up on their way through a lava-infested volcanic landscape (which she’s never quite sure why they decide to pass through, it’s awfully precarious), and she’d almost been watching around for when Dedue would make his entrance before she remembered he’d never actually left, and had, in fact, been standing beside her for their entire takedown of that base.

Ferdinand and Lorenz had been sent back to the Monastery, and hell, she’d let Ladislava go as well, seeing as how Byleth had been fairly sure Ferdinand would’ve been less than pleased had she been killed.

And so, a few men richer, and a few battlefields conquered, they’d made their way here.

Now… it’s time to make good on her word.

It’s time to save them all.

\-----

Her sword blazes a path through Gronder Field.

It cuts down ten, twenty-five, fifty soldiers before she brings it back around, letting its coils return to their natural position.

“It’s her!” She hears a lone voice call out. “The Fell Star of Blaiddyd!”

A small smile appears on Byleth’s face as she dodges a lance heading straight for her head, knocking it upwards with her shoulder and charging inwards, impaling the man on the other end of the weapon with her sword. In the space of a moment, she rips it out of him in an ugly showing that sends viscera flying towards the crowd in front of her, briefly blinding them.

In that same motion, she allows her sword to separate once more, flaying several troops as if they were fish she’d found on the end of her line.

She quite likes the name they’ve given her this lifetime, an odd combination of Those Who Slither’s fear of her alongside her connection to Dimitri, and by extension, the rest of the Blue Lions.

It’s not a name she’d have chosen for herself, but she doesn’t mind it.

“Front line, advance!” She screams as she slashes away a thief who’d tried to sneak up on her. “Unto the platform!”

\-----

Bernadetta’s fear is not well disguised.

The way she trembles as she draws an arrow and fires it at Byleth, as if she hates what she has to do and is terrified for her very life, makes her furious. For once, however, it looks like she will not need to direct that anger towards Edelgard, for even past the girl’s defeat and capture, having a few soldiers take her outside the battlefield, the wooden platform itself is not lit aflame.

She spots the girl herself in the distance, having taken a spot atop a small stone pyramid. It’s where she normally stands during this battle, but her posture is the first thing Byleth picks up on. She does not stand confidently, rather instead, she seems to slouch depressively, leaning on Aymr and unable to even look at the battlefield.

She’s not sure how quite to combat that, even if she wants nothing more than to run over and comfort the woman (or slap some sense into her). She cannot do either, however, largely due to the thousand or so soldiers in between them.

She takes in the third force, the Alliances soldiers, as they begin to make their way towards the platform.

At the head of their formation are several of the Golden Deer. Hilda she picks out immediately for the striking nature of her pink hair, and Raphael a moment later due to the man’s immensity. Claude isn’t terribly difficult to spot either, riding on the back of a wyvern. He, too, looks melancholic.

Upon seeing his face, she finds an idea coming to her, one that may just work if she can make her way to Claude’s side.

“Guys, hold your positions!” She yells back at her commanders, or, well, her class. “I’m going to try and get Claude on our side here!”

Their eyes widen, which she feels is fair. Little do they know she’s negotiated a truce between the Alliance and the Kingdom a good hundred or so times.

So, what if she’s never done so mid-battle, surely it couldn’t be that much more difficult, right?

She leapt to the ground some three meters below and rolled into a run as she broke into the Alliance’s formation. She struck only non-lethal blows, making sure to not ruin any chance she might have at diplomacy in so foolish a way.

A hit to the back of the neck here, a sweep of the legs there, and she’s made it to Claude.

The man regards her with intrigue, though whether or not that’s a good or bad thing, she’s not entirely sure.

She decides she might as well just go for it.

“Claude!” She shouts to him. “I want you to side with us in this battle, with your help, we can route the Empire, and-”

“Sure.”

She finds the wind ripped right from her sails, though not in a bad way.

“Huh?”

“I said sure.” The man shrugs. “It makes sense, and I certainly have no reason to be picking a fight with the Kingdom. Honestly, I came here to fight the Empire anyways, if that’s why you’re here as well… eh, I’ve got not complaints fighting alongside you.”

She lowers her sword, even as the soldiers around her who’d been primed to defend their general suddenly go limp, seemingly quite confused.

“That… was easier than I expected.”

“I’m the pragmatic one, teach. Remember?”

“Well, yeah, I know. Just…”

He raises an eyebrow with a small laugh.

“What?” 

She lets out a tired sigh.

“Honestly? Nothing.” She turns back towards her men, where the large majority are looking at her like she’s a crazy person.

She feels that’s fair.

“I guess… see you when this is all over?”

“Yeah,” Claude nods. “We’ll need to settle whatever this little alliance is at some point. For now, though…” He grins at her. “Good to see you alive, teach. Had heard you bit the dust. Glad I was misinformed.”

She finds herself smiling.

“Yeah… glad you were, too.”

\-----

The battle turns in their favor quickly.

Almost suspiciously quickly.

She can’t quite understand why she’s so nervous as they charge into the Empire’s lines. They flay their front alive, and the middle comes naturally after.

It should make sense, their number of soldiers had almost instantly doubled, of course they’d overtake the Empire…

But the way they’re falling back doesn’t seem like they’re routed, instead, it seems more like they’re retreating in a calculated manner, juking back and away from their spears and swords, doing their best to lose as few members as possible.

If she thought Edelgard the type in this lifetime, she might’ve suspected she would firebomb the entire force, but that would be the kind of thing only Those Who Slither would–

She waves back her forces immediately, calling for them to back out, and she’s just in time to avoid the spells that fire from beyond the tree line, lighting up the last trickles of her forces, and a good chunk of the front wave of the Empire’s. Those who are caught die almost instantly, and though she feels for them ever so slightly, she cannot worry for them now.

For the Empire’s gambit, or, perhaps more correctly, Those Who Slither’s gambit, has been sprung.

She watches as hundreds, perhaps thousands of cloaked figures emerge from all around them, surrounding them on all sides. They draw spells and blades into their hands, priming them to use on the Alliance and the Kingdom’s forces.

Both forces tense, even as the Empire in front of them, who’d been retreating just a moment prior, turn back towards them, looking far more assured. They bray and shout insults, daring them to come at them now that they’ve received their back-up.

Byleth’s eyes narrow.

It has been a long time since something surprised her.

Those Who Slither are taking a risk; such a thing on its own being cause for concern. They’ve sent a good number of their forces, perhaps a fifth or a sixth of their standing army, if one wants to call it that, to this battlefield.

They’re banking on eliminating both Claude and Dimitri right here and now. Clearly, whatever had happened in the Alliance had been similar to that of what’d occurred in the Kingdom; Claude must’ve been a thorn in their side as well for them to stake everything on this. They must think the war is already lost if they wait.

That is the only way she can justify such a move from them. Normally so patient, so reserved, that they’d wait a millennia slowly building strength. To risk throwing that away, even on a move that could, if it works, end the war in a single strike…

Their hands have been forced.

She simply isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing yet.

She turns towards some of the Blue Lions’ commanders, seeing only Ingrid and Dedue in her periphery. The others must be busy on other flanks and focusing on getting somewhat grouped with the Alliance.

This partnership is a boon, surely, but a hassle undeniably for both parties.

Though, funnily enough, she finds herself brought back to one of her own lessons she’d taught at the Monastery five years prior, and her eyes widen as she realizes their way out of this.

_“And so, as you can see, flanking from multiple angles can be a battle-winning maneuver, but only if utilized carefully. If not, you run the risk of having one of your smaller forces overwhelmed by the enemies full might. Sure, you’ve got a good position, but I’m sure you realize that’s not going to save you when you’re hopelessly outmanned.”_

“Dimitri! Claude!” She shouts as loud as she can, hoping the two can pick up on her voice in the chaos. Luckily, most of the soldiers around them are rather controlled, staying quiet and waiting for orders. “Give your soldiers the order to charge the Empire! We’ll go straight through them!”

She sees the Empire’s front guard just in front of her pale, their newly found confidence evaporating in the face of a massive force over five thousand strong.

Ingrid and Dedue, who both command their own divisions, shout out her to their companies, forming them up around themselves. They wait on their generals, as do the Alliance soldiers. Even still, they have little time before the Empire forms up…

And in that time, Byleth makes the decision to move.

She charges into the Empire’s forces alone, witnessing as some of the front line grow confused, then back to confident as they realize a lone woman is charging into their ranks.

Clearly, they are not all informed on her strength. It will be the death of them.

Her sword unfurls in a furious slash, cutting into ten or twenty soldiers and immediately bisecting them all. Those behind them get the idea, they probably don’t want to mess with her, but before they can do anything, she’s utilizing ruptured heaven, and annihilating the next two waves in one attack.

She does need to be careful, however, she can’t utilize that more than a few times in a month and waring out the Sublime Sword of the Creator’s energy isn’t exactly the sort of thing she wants to do in an active warzone. Not when its power is the bulwark holding her little one-woman-army together.

Just as she’s beginning to feel some of the heat of the battlefield, taking a few nicks here and there on her arms and legs, her legions come to back her up. They charge into the Empire’s main line with a staggering push, eviscerating the fourth and fifth lines and knocking aside many others. They lose a minimal number of soldiers in the exchange as well, the benefit of attacking an already cowed and confused phalanx.

Even still, it’s not all good. Their backline is being lit up by spells from Those Who Slither, who have what is essentially free reign to trickle down hellfire upon them, since they can’t exactly split focus with their attack pattern. They’re converging as well, doing their best to cut off any manner of victory for their two armies.

It will be close, no matter what.

She cuts into the backline of the Empire’s troops, and, for the first time, sees someone she recognizes.

Petra looks… well, horrible is an awfully rude thing to say, but she truly does mean it. She seems exhausted already, despite not having fought on the frontlines from what Byleth can remember. She wants to ask what that’s about, but she feels she already knows without having to.

Petra has been defending Edelgard from Those Who Slither.

Not overtly, of course, but likely as a counter-assassin. One who would lie in wait for… well, someone trying to lie in wait. It’s likely she’d been staying up until morning every day, waiting for someone to try and make a move on Edelgard, something that isn’t quite as rare as it might’ve seemed.

Their grand experiment Edelgard may’ve been, but they recognized her rebellious spirit. It isn’t hard to see that she holds a horrible fury for them as well, and that she’d turn on them without a second thought if given the opportunity.

Still, she can’t help feeling bad for the girl. She’s kind, and studious, doing her best to learn the intricacies of another country, another language, and whether or not Petra had killed her a surprisingly large number of times, she’d never felt anything but love for her.

She sees no other members of her class, aside from Hubert, who’s stationed beside Edelgard.

She resolves to end this quickly; hearing more than seeing more explosions go off behind her.

She offers the girl a small smile as she locks blades with her, and Petra says nothing as she returns it with one of her own. Their battle is quick and relatively easy, Petra far more suited towards a surprise attack than a straight up fight. She’s disarmed and knocked away, though she knows better than to deprive Edelgard of, likely, one of her last lines of defense. She gives the girl the smallest opening to get away, one which she hopes Petra doesn’t see is purposeful.

Luckily, it seems she doesn’t notice. She kicks off of Byleth’s body with both legs, somersaulting midair and landing a ways away, where she retreats back towards Edelgard, ignoring everything else.

She lets out a small breath at that, before focusing back in on their position. It’s important that their entire army manages to break through the Empire’s, otherwise they’ll be picked apart once they’re fully surrounded.

Unfortunately, they’ve been struggling to break through the Empire’s final line. It seems as if Edelgard had anticipated her strategy, for her final line of defense is not, as one might expect, a line or archers or mages, but a legion of tower knights, all of which have rooted themselves to the ground, determined not to move.

She swears under her breath, looking towards Edelgard, and has her heart nearly stopped as she sees the girl staring right back at her.

The expression within her eyes is not a victorious one. She looks… powerless, almost.

She’d likely, against her will, ceded complete control to Those Who Slither. Even Edelgard wouldn’t have thrown her soldiers away like this. It’s so clearly a strategy she wouldn’t employ, sacrificing a good thousand soldiers just to trap them in a bad spot.

But it’s exactly the kind of thing Thales would think up, or anyone who serves under him.

She looks back towards the Blue Lions commanders, trying to see how they’re handling things.

Unfortunately, the common soldiers are panicking, striking uselessly against the tower knights armor. Obviously, a few knights do fall, but more are able to hold their positions, and slash down at the remaining troops. For each tower knight, ten of their common soldiers lives are snuffed out.

She can fix this, though. She’s more than experienced enough to call for order in the ranks, and possesses some powerful offensive light-based magic. She could probably blow these knights away if she could make it over there.

Just as she’s about to move, three figures flank in on her, and she swears once more as she’s forced to duck, dodge, and juke away from the remaining battle: the newcomers isolating her.

The first thing she realizes is that they’re good; the three have, in nary five seconds, prevented her from likely bailing her forces out of this little encounter. The second is just who it is who’s shown up.

Two she recognizes but doesn’t possess names to match to faces. They’re powerful Agarthan warriors, some of their very best fighters, likely trained from birth for that sole purpose.

The other is Kronya.

“Hey, Professor,” The orange-haired minx smirks at her. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

They waste no time.

Her sword is a flurry of steel and sharp, potent blows. She is, for perhaps the first time in this life, genuinely fighting to protect her own. Three on one is not generally a challenge, but these particular three pull no punches.

“Did you miss me?” Kronya’s blade, a newly enchanted Athame, rains down upon her. She narrowly ducks underneath each one. “I know I missed you! I’ve been waiting to cut your damned head from your spine!”

She jukes back again, barely managing to strike a small wound on one of the male warriors. He flinches back and away, giving her the time to strike at his compatriot, who falls with a scream as his body is bisected.

Kronya stops shit-talking almost immediately, sneering instead.

“How annoying.”

A blast of magic hits her from behind, and she’s lucky she’s got a fairly sturdy constitution, for she’s pretty sure such a blow would’ve knocked down anyone else. She’s able to parry Kronya’s next blow, forcing it to the side ever so slightly, but it still knicks the side of her arm.

She feels the enchantment in the blade begin to work its way through her body, and though hers is a powerful one, sharing a lifeforce with the Goddess herself, it is still agonizing to feel the magics tear her system apart.

Another few blows, and she’s backing up. Another few blows, and she finds her Sword of the Creator wrested from her hands.

It embeds itself in the ground five or so feet away from her, and before she can leap towards it, a foot impacts her chest, sending her flying.

She lands hard, only just managing to roll away from the magic that would’ve surely forced her to pulse. She’s breathing hard as another few soldiers encircle her, and she has a moment of clarity.

This is probably it.

 _“Shit…”_ She speaks to no one in particular.

She’s just about to reach out for a pulse, to grasp that feeling within her head, when she feels a hand touch her own.

It’s a faint contact, almost ethereal in the way it’s like a breeze ghosting across her skin.

And yet, even still, she finds her eyes widening as she takes in the figure standing just beside her, staring up at her with a wry smile.

 _“Sorry I was gone so long.”_ The green-haired Goddess intertwines their fingers together, bringing her hand forward. _“Reforming took a bit longer than I’d expected.”_

She looks away from the girl at her side, letting out a calm, airy laugh. Suddenly, the hopelessness of the situation around her… it doesn’t feel so bad anymore. She squeezes down on the hand within her own, and breaths in deeply.

 _“Welcome back.”_ She teases lightly.

Sothis just rolls her eyes.

The Agarthan warriors around her charge in, and a few mages are only a bit behind, waiting for an opportunity to destroy her with their magic. Her sword rests a few meters away, with Kronya stood just beside it, leaning her weight on it as if to taunt her.

 _“You know what to do?”_ Sothis asks her.

 _“Yeah.”_ She answers back.

She holds out her hand, calling upon some of Sothis’ strength, and the girl places her hand over Byleth’s. Together, their force is more than enough to call out to the Sword of the Creator in its sublime form, and it rattles as its pulled out of the ground.

She may like the girl, sometimes with admittedly poor reasoning, but Byleth can’t deny she gets a kick out of the way Kronya’s mocking expression evaporates as she’s knocked to the ground, her only support pulled out from underneath her.

Her sword flies through the air, until it strikes her palm with an audible clap. She appreciates the pain the contact brings about in her hand, it’s enough to strike her system back into working order, and with Sothis back…

She feels invincible once again.

She doesn’t wait for Those Who Slither to come to her, instead, she charges forwards, flipping her sword cockily as Sothis calls out enemy abilities and weapons.

A swordsman to her right, and a mage to her left. At 4 o’clock, a dark mage is charging up for an immensely powerful spell that she’s pretty sure she should know the name of, but at the moment, all her thought processes are being used up by thoughts of Sothis, which she realizes is _perhaps_ irresponsible of her in the middle of a warzone, but she’s been pretty damned lonely for the past month or two.

It’s Kronya who finally manages to rally her drastically decreased number of troops. She stands from the ground, draws Athame up, and blitzes forwards, connecting her blade with the Sword of the Creator in half a second.

“Don’t let her strength fool you!” She shouts. “The upper hand is with us!”

It’s a lie, or perhaps Kronya _believes_ it’s the truth, but either way, it doesn’t matter. She needs to clear the way here and get back to her allies, who are being converged upon by the Agarthans main force. They have another minute or two before they’re overrun. Right now, what they need is a hero.

She will falter no longer. She is Byleth Eisner, the strongest warrior on the damned continent.

It’s time to prove that once again.

Her battle with those assigned to her ends almost in a flash. She rips apart her surroundings with a ruptured heaven, stunning Kronya, but eviscerating most of the others. She then does something she’s never actually tried before, which is using another ruptured heaven _immediately_ after using the last.

The effect is rather entertaining, at least, in that any who were caught in the initial blast and had managed to survive are incinerated in the follow-up attack. It leaves only three soldiers, one of which is Kronya herself. The girl is panting, however, clearly exhausted, and only continuing to fight because, as Byleth imagines, she’d be killed anyways if she ran away.

The others must be under those same restrictions, for they charge in. She picks off the first one, but the second manages to duck underneath her blow.

“How!?” The man screams. “How in the hell did you manage to fight back!? We had you!?”

He grabs onto her leg, even as she stabs down into his arm. He grunts but doesn’t relent.

“I’ll figure it out… the secret to your abilities!”

A flash of… _something_ washes over her, and she feels an incredible wave of nausea and nostalgia overwhelm her, as if she is briefly remembering every moment of all of her lifetimes. It is gone a moment later, and the man’s eyes roll back into his head. He slumps to the ground, foam erupting from his mouth.

She has no time to focus on him, however, on account of Kronya jumping at her, Athame held in a reverse grip as she brings it down on Byleth’s right arm.

Pain lances through her limb, but all she can do is pass the Sword of the Creator to her left hand and continue to fight. Being ambidextrous is simply a skill one _must_ have if one truly wants to fight battles every month of their life. Too often Byleth would lose control of their right arm, and without the ability to use their left…

Well, that’d be a rather debilitating problem.

A few more trades, a few more cuts and slashes, and Athame is the blade launched into the air this time. It lands farther away than her own blade had, a good thirty or so feet away, embedding itself into the earth.

Kronya looks back towards it, keeping herself at exactly the tip of the Sword of the Creator’s range.

Byleth could kill her here even so, elongating her blade into a spine-like whip, but…

She turns away, running instead towards her allies. She hears Kronya scream something at her back, likely a curse for letting her survive once again, but honestly, she doesn’t really care at the moment. She has something more pressing to worry about.

Her forces are being overrun.

Those Who Slither have hit the outer edges, and though no one crucial has yet fallen (she does feel the smallest bit of guilt for acknowledging the basic rank and file as basically disposable to her, but she can’t care about everyone), she knows it is only a matter of time at this rate. She checks to see how the Golden Deer are faring, caught up in this as well. Hilda and Raphael are clearing space for their troops near the front, but they can’t hold forever. Even Claude providing cover fire with Failnaught will only buy them an extra minute or two.

Those Who Slither’s ground forces do not care for their lives. Hell, if one tries to run, he’ll likely be cut down by the man behind him. That’s simply the way their armies function. It’s disgusting to see, but pragmatically, it’s not a terrible way to operate an army. It means they do not fear, or perhaps cannot fear, advancing.

She wishes she’d be having less thoughts about the general structure of the opposing armies, and more thoughts about how to actually deal with them.

Unfortunately, she has no real plans here. She doesn’t see a way out of this, and instead of continuing, she simply reaches into the back of her head, feeling for a pulse.

She feels… and feels…

And nothing happens.

 _“So, good news and bad news,”_ Sothis scratches the back of her neck, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. _“Good news, I’m here and we get to be together again… Bad news… I used almost all of my power to return to your side this early. So, uh… we’ve kiiiind of got no pulses?”_

She turns to the girl, panic filling her chest.

_“We **what!?** ”_

_“I’m sorry, okay!”_ She yells a bit aggressively. _“I didn’t think we’d be in this deep of a hole, I can’t exactly know what’s going on outside. Besides, aren’t we a month early to be here in Gronder!?”_

She bites down on a curse that hangs at the back of her throat. Somehow she’d just _known_ that month difference would be a bitch. Instead of wasting anymore time, however, she charges forward.

If _this_ is the only lifetime she’s getting…

Then she’d better make the most of it, and quickly.

Unfortunately, as she surges into the enemy flank, taking out fifteen or so with her first few blows, she finds the weight of her sword lacking. Despite what she might say, with her right arm already dead at her side, her overall power output is lowered by a staggering amount, almost halved. She has no ability to cleave through enemies like the Tower Knights which still block her forces paths with her blade, and she can’t use magic with her right arm either, with it hanging uselessly at her side.

She curses aloud this time as she sheathes her blade at her side, dodging underneath a spell from an Agarthan mage, and begins to charge an Aura in her left hand. It gleams with strength as she fires it off into the Empire’s last line.

An explosion of white light eviscerates the first few it hits, and the rest of the line crumple almost instantly with a clear hole in their barricade. Her magic is potent. Though rarely utilized, it stands at an even level with some of the strongest on the continent, perhaps only a step below those like Rhea and Lysithea.

She has given her forces a way out; a funnel, so to speak, but until Those Who Slither have been routed entirely, forced to retreat, this battle is far from over. They form an almost hourglass shaped formation around them, tightening and tightening as they get closer still.

She sees Annette and Mercedes nail a few black mages with Bolganone’s, and Felix do the exact same with one of his own. She watches as Lysithea focuses for but a moment, before unleashing an unholy concoction, a spell she believes is called Hades Omega, upon a good fifty enemies.

They writhe and scream as their lives are torn for them, and not for the first time she thanks the universe that she has not had to face that girl on the battlefield very many times.

The girl shouts something to her men, and even through her obvious exhaustion, it carries weight. Fsrom the way the soldiers around her begin to rush that position, Byleth thinks it had likely been an order to exit out of their entrapment from the point she’d just cleared.

It’s a decent strategy, but Those Who Slither aren’t the type of army one can cow with fear of death. They fill the hole instantly, losing no ground as they incinerate the few of Lysithea’s own who’d followed her orders.

Byleth watches as the girl screams in agony and feels a pity that only a leader can for another. Losing one’s precious subordinates on the battlefield… she’s never gotten used to it, even if she likes to tell herself she has.

She realizes, perhaps absentmindedly, that they won’t win this.

It’s a terrifying revelation, which is different. Normally she finds herself rather apathetic to the fact that she’ll be waking up at the beginning of her lifetime, seeing her father, going to Garreg Mach…

The feeling normally carries the smallest, tracest amounts of melancholy, but normally she is able to dismiss it rather simply. This time… this time something is different.

It’s a combination of things almost certainly. Her relationships with her students are always different, always entertaining. Even as enemies, even as thorns in her side, they often have her smiling. But it’s not just that this time. It’s the relationships her students have formed with other students that truly affect her, namely, Dimitri and Edelgard.

Their bond is unique to this lifetime. She has never seen the two as close as they are now… only for it to be ripped apart all the same. Perhaps it is naïve of her, but she wishes to see that through to its conclusion. Heartbreak is the likeliest outcome, a dagger to the shoulder, and a spear to the chest, but even so… even so…

The faintest rumbling sound begins to hum at the back of her eardrums, and she turns towards its source rapidly, her head snapping to attention. When she sees what’s coming, her eyes widen to such a degree that a few soldiers around her turn as well, looking away from the battle at hand, and instead towards the horizon.

It isn’t much. A force of horsemen perhaps a hundred strong. Under normal circumstances, such a company would be of use, certainly, but surely not enough to swing this large a battle in scale.

Yet there’s a funny smile dominating her face as they ride forward, and as the members of Those Who Slither just in front of them, those that will soon be met by spears and swords and axes from atop the white mains of the oncoming tide, turn to meet them, it is then that Byleth feels a small bit of peace in the bottom of her heart.

She takes a deep breath, and turns not towards the oncoming storm, but in the opposite direction.

The line just in front of her are the westernmost line of Those Who Slither, who flank the Kingdom and Alliance armies on their west side. On their east side, another force of Agarthans stops them from retreating away. On those Agarthans east side lie the horsemen, who are charging westward towards them. Oddly enough, if one looks upon the battle from the side, their fronts would form four almost parallel lines (if one ignores the way that Those Who Slither encircle the Kingdom and Alliance troops).

The Agarthans to their west are looking right at the horseman, their eyes glued to them, to reacting to them in case something happens.

Their eyes are, pointedly, not on them.

“DIMITRI! CLAUDE!”

Her voice is as booming as she could possibly make it, and she doesn’t hesitate as she runs forward. This will be her third charge of the day, but she has a feeling it will be her last as well.

“COME ON!”

She cannot afford to wait. Her sword is unfurling in her left hand as she brings it back to bare. There is no time for hesitation. She simply must have implicit faith in the men and women behind her, implicit faith that they will follow up on her attack.

The first of the mages sees her, breaking out of whatever trance they’d been in while watching the horseman, and begins to charge a spell in her hands. It’s black magic, and it’s fired only a few seconds later.

The woman’s aim is perfect, but Byleth is simply too skilled to be felled by a single spell. She cuts it down the center, letting the two halves impact and explode against the ground just behind her. She silently hopes no one has been following behind her too close, or that anyone who hasn’t yet started gets the idea and gives her a wider berth.

Merely a hundred feet between her and the line of mages beyond. Before she can get within range to destroy them with a ruptured heaven, they’re backing away, letting the warriors, carrying axes, swords, and pikes, all arranged rather haphazardly intercept her.

She begins to lift her sword, feeling the weight of it start to cramp her left arm, but before she can strike a single one, three arrows jut out from the necks of the soldier wall. They fall rapidly, quickly being picked apart by the fired volleys.

She knows each persons shot style rather well. Just in front of her is Ashe’s handiwork, a shot that, while not perfectly placed, rarely misses. To its right is Shamir’s, a picture-perfect shot reminiscent of a storybook hero, right between the eyes of the soldier she’d struck. Behind that one is a rather poorly placed arrow, Cyril’s, and she can hear Shamir giving the boy lessons mid-fight, telling him to aim a little higher than he thinks he has to. Lastly is a rather destructive bolt, one which mows through multiple men at the same time. Claude’s style is… well, simply put, Failnaught makes his shots rather easy to pick out of a crowd.

She finds herself screaming as she channels energy into her blade and unleashes the last Ruptured Heaven still in her possession. She could technically eek out another after that, but it’d entirely drain her blade of power, leaving her with nothing more than a dull spine as a weapon.

 _“Excuse me, that’s my dull spine you’re insulting.”_ Sothis quips, smiling over at her.

She appreciates the lightening of the mood more than her patron goddess can possibly know. It’s been too long since she’s last had her by her side.

Idly, she remembers that Sothis is hearing all of this, as she can read her thoughts.

She then remembers that she doesn’t much care.

 _“It’s a rather poor spine if I’m being honest.”_ Is about the best she can do with how tired she is.

Evidently, the forces in front of her seem to have not been expecting what’s just happened. Clearly, they’d anticipated having reinforcements coming in from behind, raining death upon them with volleys of dark magic and hellfire. Instead, they’d received nothing.

All because of the charging horsemen.

All because of a certain mercenary band, who’d shown up at the perfect time.

She cleaves the head off another soldier, and watches as the rest finally give in. Their leader, or, at least, Byleth assumes the one who shouts out “RETREAT!” is their leader, is the first to run, though he’s sniped by a well-placed arrow from Ashe.

Their archers don’t miss the chance to take out as many of Those Who Slither as they can in the chaos, though their melee troop hangs back, entirely exhausted. She herself is not immune to that feeling, finding her legs giving out beneath her like jelly.

Even still, she doesn’t miss the chance to cheer along with the rest of them as the Agarthans disappear into the wilderness beyond Gronder once more, falling back and away from the battlefield.

Byleth turns towards the last remaining sounds of combat, where the final few Agarthan fighters are making their stand. They’re surrounded by horseman who continuously encircle them, evidently trying to capture them.

“Surrender.” The leader of the horseman, a graying, rather ugly, (sort of) middle-aged blonde man speaks with absolute indifference. “You’ll be treated fairly as prisoners of war.”

It’s obvious they from Those Who Slither do not agree with the man’s logic. They each begin to channel a spell in their hands, ones which looks frighteningly powerful. Before Byleth can even let them know what those are, suicidal technique’s meant to be last resorts, the ten or so Agarthan soldiers have already been impaled on the ends of spears or sniped down with arrows.

They fall to the ground, dead.

With them goes the last of her energy, and she collapses onto the ground below her, limbs splayed out on the dirt, utterly spent.

She surveys the damage of the day, thinks back to each of her students. Hubert is an obvious escapee, having left at some point along with Edelgard, who she realizes she didn’t see much of, on account of her likely being utilized like a pawn by Thales. Petra she’d let go, and Bernadetta she’d captured.

Everyone from the Golden Deer had survived, and she knew because she’d seen them cheering along with her as the Agarthans ran (or, in Claude’s case, firing arrows into the retreating forces). None from the Blue Lions had fallen, either, as all had been present during her final charge.

If that’s the case, then…

She’s done it.

She lets out a horrid sigh as she sees Sothis reappear in her vision, smiling down at her.

 _“That… was intense.”_ Byleth utters wearily.

 _“Yeah, you can say that again.”_ Sothis laughs, sitting down next to her and linking their hands _“But… it’s done for now.”_

She does not say over, and Byleth knows why. This is the hardest battle of the war in terms of protecting her students, but when it comes to actual combat, there are many battles that eclipse it in scale and challenge.

Not the least of which is their assault on Embarr… which is to be their next major offensive.

She sighs as she sees her armies part out of the corner of her eye, and the horsemen who’d arrived are the ones responsible. They walk slowly towards her, and Byleth finds just enough strength in her legs to stand once more, even past the screaming protests of her body, which really just wants to sleep and never wake up again.

Unfortunately, her body’s muscles and stamina reset when time reverts back as well, which means she doesn’t exactly have a godly constitution, but just a rather high pain tolerance.

Such a thing is only very barely a boon.

The leader of the band dismounts his horse, looking right at her and letting out one of the most beleaguered sighs she’s ever heard from a human being.

A second later he charges her.

She watches with some small amusement as the soldiers around them all move forward, as if to protect her would this man wish to harm her. Unfortunately for them, he’s pretty damned strong, a veritable behemoth of a man. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

She would know; he’d taught her everything she’d used here today.

The arms that wrap around her back nearly strangle the air out of her lungs, and she’s not at all surprised when she’s lifted off the ground ever so slightly, the man holding her likely not even realizing he’s doing so.

“You… you’re really alive…”

“Yep…” She replies, tapping the back of his back so as to indicate her surrender. “Now… please… can’t breathe…”

He releases her onto the ground, upon which she groans exhaustedly.

“I…” The man above her lets out a small, almost absent laugh. It is airy and free, and it sounds as if it’s the first of its kind in a long while. “I thought I’d lost you all those years ago.”

She smiles up at him.

“Sorry for making you worry. I… wasn’t in any shape to send a letter, I’m afraid.”

The giant laughs, this time fully, and she’s a bit confused because she knows that joke had been pretty bad, but she decides it’s probably fine.

“Not in any shape to send a letter…” The man repeats, shaking his head. “I’ve no idea where you get that terrible sense of humor from-”

“Oi…” She mutters with narrowed eyes.

“Because it certainly wasn’t from me.” Jeralt remarks with a soft smile, one that looks entirely at odds with his rough and hardened face.

She smirks.

“Who knows, maybe you’re secretly the life of the party under all of that scruff hard-ass nonsense?”

Her father gives a silent shake of the head (albeit smiling), but she gets a few of her band to crack up, so she considers that a win.

“Honestly, I half expected you to join up with the kingdom or something,” She admits, looking up at her father with a curious expression. “Where’ve you been?”

She watches as a small bit of shame overtakes the mans expression, and he lets out a sigh. In that moment, she finally keys into the fact that most of the army still surrounding her is watching them, instead of doing really anything else.

“Alright, shows over folks,” She shouts as loudly as she can manage (which is relatively quiet, honestly), drawing her sword out into her hand to illustrate her point. “Don’t make me stab anyone.”

Most turn away. Those who don’t get a stiff glare from her, and they turn away as well.

Her father’s expression lightens somewhat.

“Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her own smile falls. “So… what happened?”

“I’m not proud of it, but… after I lost you, I lost the last thing I had in the world. I couldn’t even go back to Rhea, seeing as how she’d been captured, and I had no real connections outside of the mercenaries… so I just… wandered.”

She nods.

“After that… I don’t know. We stopped traveling with purpose, mostly just going to and fro. I think for a while we were only a hairs breadth away from turning into bandits ourselves, even if I’m not proud to admit that. I’d been drinking down kegs like they were water, and… I might’ve drunken myself to death if not for a rumor I heard a month or two back.”

She’s following his words, even past the small frown on her face, and the icy cold sadness in her heart. Sothis reaches over and takes her left hand, squeezing down on it, and the reminder that the girl is there keeps her head up, keeps her present.

_“Thanks.”_

_“No problem.”_

“Someone said… this girl working with the Kingdom’s armies, with hair as green as the Archbishops, was terrorizing the Empire’s forces at every turn. They called her the second coming of Nemesis… and that… that sounded like you.”

Her eyes widen, even as the information conveyed doesn’t actually surprise her too terribly much.

Her father had come all this way, crossed canyons and valleys and mountains and rivers… on the off chance that he _might_ run into her on one of the most dangerous fronts of a continent-wide war. A war that he’d had no real place in.

“I had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain, so I figured to hell with it, worst that happens is I end up joining the Kingdom army, a move I thought you’d be proud of me for making regardless. And… the rumor ended up being true.” Most of the pain in her father’s face disappears as he looks down at her once more. “You’re alive.”

She smiles back.

“I am indeed.”

Her father looks to want to continue speaking, but for a presence behind her approaching. She sees her father reach for his sword, though judging by the way he relaxes his stance a moment later, she shouldn’t exactly feel threatened.

She leans back enough to peak at whoever’s above her and gets an upside-down view of a rather smug smile.

“Hey teach.” Claude gives a tiny wave. “Is now a bad time?”

“Yes, but unfortunately, there aren’t really any good times,” She shakes her head, pushing back off the ground (ignoring the way her limbs scream in agony) and turning towards her father. “Sorry, dad, can we continue this later?”

“Of course.” Jeralt keeps an easy expression on his face, though Byleth can tell he isn’t thrilled to have been interrupted. “Just know for now that… well, I guess I’m joining up with the Kingdom, aren’t I?”

“We could certainly use the help.” She extends a guilt-ridden offer.

He sees it for what it is, shaking his head, but retaining that same smile he’s had on for most of their conversation.

“Then I suppose I am.”

“Welcome to the troop.” She jokes with him one final time as she turns towards the leader of the Golden Deer.

“Well then, what can I do for the illustrious Claude von Riegan?”

“Please stop calling me that, you’ll make me blush.” The man shoots her a wink, one which she returns with a roll of her eyes. “And I believe we agreed we’d be having a talk about our little alliance, correct?”

She’d actually forgotten about that.

It’d been a hectic last hour.

“Right, I remembered.” She lies easily enough, and she can tell Claude knows it by the slight upturn of his lips. “So… what do we want to do?”

“Not to be rude, but shouldn’t you invite little old Dimitri over as well?”

“Do I have to?” She groans. “Listen, I’m exhausted, I’ve got maybe an ounce of energy left, if that, can’t we just hash out a deal between friends?”

Claude actually laughs, placing his fist in front of his mouth to try and stifle it.

“Luckily for you,” He says just as his mirth is dying down. “It appears our royal highness saw me coming.”

She turns around, and true to Claude’s word, Dimitri is pushing through the last parts of the crowd, looking towards the two of them with… not quite a smile, but certainly not a frown either.

She couldn’t quite describe it.

 _“He looks like the definition of someone who says they’re feeling ‘meh’.”_ Sothis provides.

_“Huh… that does kind of fit, actually.”_

“Claude.” Dimitri opens simply enough.

“Dimitri.” Claude fires back.

The two stand there rather awkwardly for a moment, which is certainly not something she could say she’d ever expected out of the Golden Deer’s leader.

“So, uh… peace and all that?” The man offers.

“Well seeing as how we’ve never actually fought on the battlefield; I have no qualms allying with your forces.” Dimitri says with a nod. “If you’d like, we can hash out a peace agreement tonight, and march for Embarr tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there,” Claude holds out a hand, an apologetic look to his features. “Unfortunately, the Alliance can’t afford to be abandoning its own territories for months on end. We’ve got a Homefront to get back to, and our own number of Those Who Slither to be rid of.”

 _“So, the Alliance really is under attack from Those Who Slither…”_ She mentally remarks.

 _“I guess if Dimitri’s got his head on straight, and publicly acknowledging them, they think they have no choice but to go for the throat.”_ Sothis reasons.

She hums in agreement as she keys back into the conversation.

“That is a shame…” Dimitri rubs his chin.

“Ah, no worries, though. I’m still open to that peace agreement.” Claude brings out a piece of parchment from off of his wyvern. It’s long, and not at all to size for writing an official document on, but this is Claude, so she doesn’t think either of those things will stop him. “We can have it written up within a few hours, and our armies will depart back to the Alliance.”

Dimitri considers that for a moment, before looking back up.

“Well then…” He smiles. “Let’s get to work.”

\-----

The agreement comes together in three and a half hours, thanks in large part to the fact that it is, in all honesty, mostly a pointless thing. A piece of paper that really only allows Claude to go back to the Alliance and show undeniable proof that the Kingdom is willing to work with them, rather than a ratifying agreement.

She does, at the very least, appreciate the break from marching and warring, and takes that time to talk with varying people, including a few Golden Deer students she hasn’t seen in a few months (for them a few years), and with her father. She discusses the last few months, most of it being rather boring, and hears the entirety of Jeralt’s tale. It’s really only a less abridged version of what she’d heard earlier, but even still, it is good to talk with him at all.

When she’s finished, she travels towards their makeshift prison, and speaks with Bernadetta. The girl is happy to see her, even past the confines around her. She makes it clear that Bernadetta’s not a threat (or, well, not much of one), and should be taken back to the Monastery, which her soldiers agree to do on their next trip back for supplies come the end of the month.

As she leaves there and heads towards her tent, she’s surprised to find that Marianne of all people is pulling her aside, the expression on her face hesitant, but at the same time, determined.

“Professor…” The girl begins, gulping down on her nerves as she looks Byleth in the eye. “I first want to thank you for everything you and the Blue Lions have done for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if not for your teachings, and the friends I’ve made here. At the same time, however…”

“You want to return back to the Alliance with the Golden Deer?” She guesses.

The guilt that passes over Marianne’s face at that is enough to have her feeling bad, and so, instead of answering with words, she pulls the girl into a tight hug.

“I… I’m sorry, I just…”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Not at all.” She squeezes just the smallest bit tighter. “Say hi to everyone over there for me, okay?”

Marianne sniffles for a moment, before wrapping her own hands around Byleth’s back.

“I will.”

The Alliance leaves around two hours later, Marianne going with them, the girl waving goodbye as the Blue Lions, despite now being trusted commanders and proper warriors, shout back things like “we’ll miss you!” and “see you later!”. She wishes she could pretend like she hadn’t been doing the same thing.

Dedue, rather shockingly, had even given a single nod, which she’d felt had been about as much respect as any of them had ever received from the gentle giant.

By the time she settles in for the night, having had once last meeting to attend to (which she definitely, if anyone asked, _hadn’t_ been sleeping through) she’s entirely exhausted. She groans as she lays down in the tent she has, gracefully, been the only person assigned to. She’s not sure how lucky she is with that, as they’d certainly lost some soldiers today, a good fourth of their force, but even still, it’s a welcome boon.

As she lies down, she beckons Sothis to take the spot beside her, and the girl acquiesces, wrapping her in a tight embrace as she pulled the covers over both of them.

Well… over herself. They sort of phase through Sothis if she’s being honest.

“Long day…” She murmurs quietly, shivering slightly from the cold and feeling sleep begin to hit her. “Even still… we’re getting closer.”

“Mhm.” Sothis hums into her chest. “This is it. We can finally be done with all of this.”

A small twinge hits her heart, likely the very thought that they could one day be done with all of this too much for her to believe.

That had to be it.

“What’ll we even do once we finish?” Sothis asks, looking up at her. “You ever thought about that?”

She ponders for a moment, even as her eyes glaze over.

“Hmm… I can’t remember…” Her voice is practically a whisper.

Sothis must notice her utter exhaustion, for she breathes out a laugh as she looks up into her steady shutting eyes.

“Would you like to think about this tomorrow, perhaps?” Sothis teases.

“Mhmm…” She moans out rather tiredly in agreement.

Sothis giggles.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goo’night…” She murmurs as her eyes close entirely. “Lub woo…”

She’s asleep within another second.

She misses, however, the way Sothis’ eyes scrunch up, and how she buries her face in Byleth’s chest, a look of concern etched onto her face.

“You’ve never thought about it.” Sothis’s voice is quiet. “Never…”

Her grip tightens.

“I would know if you had…”

\-----

It’s the dead of night when Thales approaches the Kingdom’s camp.

He is not here to eliminate anyone, despite what one might expect. No, he is here for the express purpose of denying his opponent any and all information that he can, and to collect as much for his people as possible.

He takes in the sites around the encampment, looking for the exact spot the battle had taken place. He finds it after perhaps twenty or so seconds, and walks slowly towards it, not finding any purpose in wasting a teleportation magic to close so small a distance.

He sees easily enough in the dark, his eyes long since having adjusted to the blackened caverns and massive spires of Shambala. He’s not really looking for anything in particular, merely coming here to destroy the bodies of important Agarthan combatants, whose corpses carry information that could link others to them.

To his shock, however, as he wanders the battleground, he feels a small grain of life on the edge of his senses.

He steps towards it slowly and carefully, bringing a spell into his right hand in case it’s a human soldier he’ll need to snuff out. Upon arriving, however, he finds it is one of his own soldiers, and quite a strong one at that.

It’s one of the soldiers they’d bred from birth to be a killing machine. His face is white and paling, evidently having little time to live, and from the foam around his mouth, and the complete whites in his eyes, Thales gets the idea the man had somehow lost his mind.

He reads the body and discovers the last casted spell the man had performed.

A memory reader.

A powerful spell that allows one to read the entire lifetime of the one they’d casted it on. It’d primarily been used by their scientists to assist their spies in infiltrating territory, kidnapping someone, reading their memories, implanting them into a spy, and then killing off the original.

They’d done it more times than Thales could remember, hundreds of times in the past 1200 years.

And yet he’d never seen the information inside another somehow overwhelm someone’s mind before.

He reaches down, preparing to take the memories the man had absorbed, but pulled back. Before he does anything else, he casts an enchantment on himself that will protect his brain from being utterly annihilated if he would suffer the same fate as the man below him.

And then he touches the man’s head.

Images flashed through his head faster than he’s ever seen them. A solemn, lonesome journey, with death at every turn. A second go, a taken revenge, death. A third, again, this time different. Wait, kill, death. A fourth, trying to undermine authority, accidentally splitting the continent into five pieces, everyone dies, death. A fifth–

A one hundred and second, seduce Edelgard, try and sway her, hide from the others, hide the shame, hide everything, death. A one hundred and third, seduce Edelgard, come on stronger, abuse information previously learned, utilize everything, abuse her authority, abuse her authority, she dies, death. A one hundred and fourth–

A two thousand eight hundred and fifty third, follow the steps, move forwards, trust Sothis, trust Sothis, move forward, get Dimitri’s trust. Get Claude’s trust. Try and sway Edelgard but not too much or else she’ll die, sway Edelgard, kill Kr- no, spare Kronya, destroy Those Who Slither once and for all, then death.

A two thousand eight hundred and fifty fourth, ignore the steps, accidental meeting of Dimitri and Edelgard, new? new? NEW? dance with the devil, invite her to tea, spare her and let her run, the two join together, _the two join together,_ it all comes apart, rejoining, seeing everyone again, she feels like she could cry, warring at Gronder, her love comes back, a man reaches for her leg and–

His eyes shoot open, and a scream tears from his lips before he can stop it. He grasps his skull, barely conscious past the pain that’s come with the remnants of the visions he’s suffered through.

In that last blip, in that infinitesimal moment, he’d experienced the weight of six-thousand years.

The 2,854 lifetimes of Byleth Eisner, child of Jeralt Eisner, the blade breaker…

And carrier of Sothis, their mortal enemy.

No, carrier is not enough. Partner, friend, clone, lover, all of those words feel inadequate. She, or perhaps they, are the second half of Sothis, the mortal half, one that brings death to the Agarthans, and brings about a new age in Fódlan.

A task she has never once failed to accomplish.

Oh sure, she had certainly ruined more than her fair share of lifetimes. She had killed Edelgard, or slain Blaiddyd, or that pompous Riegan brat. She had ruined the church, or undermined them, sewn chaos or destroyed the very fabric of the continent on her own…

But she’d never, when trying, failed to defeat the Agarthans, failed to drive back their assault. She can, at a moment’s notice, simply decide she’s had enough of it, and destroy every effort they’ve ever made towards conquering Fódlan.

And because of the Goddess inside of her… she physically _cannot_ fail.

If she does, it’s a rewind to the beginning of the battle. If she fails more severely, then a rewind to the beginning of a lifetime. But she cannot be killed. Even if she is, she simply reverts.

Thales grasps his aching head as he hears voices approaching, likely guards sent to investigate the screams, and growls angrily. He channels that same dark spell that’d been in his hand earlier and unleashes it upon the man below him.

His own warrior dies instantly, a small price to pay to assure they won’t know of his discovery, and he warps away a moment later.

Now, a good fifty meters from that point, he lets out another aching gasp, and finds his breaths coming heavily.

The Agarthans have seem empires rise and fall in their day, helping them to do both. They’ve killed and seduced and, yes, even they have lost. They’ve destroyed and conquered, and they’ve manipulated and deceived, all for generations, millennia.

But next to what he’s just experienced… their empire feels fragile… _weak._

How can he possibly defeat an enemy who knows everything about them, when even knowing everything about her lends them no aid. He could kidnap those closest to her and force her to die, but no, she’d simply reset the timeline, and then come at him again next life, except he’d have no knowledge of her once again. Worse, she’d reset time to the beginning of that day, stalk the person he intended to kidnap, and kill him without him even knowing he’d succeeded in kidnapping them the first time, without even _knowing_ she’d been on to him from the start.

No, it’s likely that the moment he creates a successful plan, she is already privy to it, thanks to her ability to reset if something goes wrong.

He can do nothing, unless that woman somehow loses the power to revert time itself, but it isn’t like he can prevent her from doing it. Not unless–

The idea that pops into his head is, perhaps, overly simplistic. It is preposterous, almost idiotic…

And yet, at the same time…

He runs calculations in his head at a speed that would kill a normal man. What they would require to pull it off… is it possible… can it be done…?

He realizes that it can, and the smile that forms on his face practically makes it to both of his ears.

The plan is almost entirely complete in his head by the time he stands up, and he lets out a laugh, no, a cackle as he walks into the forest, readying himself for the journey back to Shambala. After all, he’d need the help of their best scientists, and he’d need time to fully prepare. For the act he would soon commit…

Will surely shake the very foundation of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... it didn't quiiiite take a month? I mean I only made it by two days, but that counts!
> 
> In all seriousness, though, It's good to finally put another chapter of this story out. I missed writing it, especially since it's easily my favorite fanfic I've written (even if it only really competes with one other).
> 
> So yeah, four more chapters (10,11,12,13) until we reach the end! I'm excited, and I feel like perhaaaaps you should be too?
> 
> Alright, see you all in... two weeks? wait, no, Cold Steel 4 comes out next week... and that'll consume me for a while...
> 
> Okay, three weeks.


	10. A Brokenhearted Cry

As Byleth steps out of her carriage, and looks out upon the city before her, she finds herself unable to focus on… anything, really.

Embarr often has that effect on her.

The last time she’d been here, it’d been under the pretense of peace. She’d come along with Dimitri, and though she’d lavished in the baths and enjoyed the festivities, truthfully, Edelgard had barely paid attention to her at all. The trip hadn’t been about her, so it’s no real surprise she’s already forgotten most of it.

Conserving space in her head is an important thing.

She hears the barking of orders behind her, and, if she focuses hard, she feels she can almost hear it on the wind as well, coming from the other end of the city, where the Empire, or, more than likely, Those Who Slither are mounting one final line of defense to prevent them from stepping into the castle.

She shivers lightly, feeling an ill tide along the wind.

It is an odd, and almost foreign feeling. She is not one for superstitions… well, actually, she’s definitely one for _some_ superstitions, since she’s pretty damned sure that fate itself is out to get her, conspiring against her at every turn. Even if she has Sothis to ease that pain a little… well, that doesn’t mean she thinks the world’s a great and fun place to be.

Aside from that, though, she’s not normally one for irrational beliefs. The fact that she’s getting any feeling out of the wind other than that she’s slightly cold is… weird. Terribly weird. She tries to push that out of her mind… to middling success.

She sighs as she sees Dimitri empty out from his personal carriage, well, it houses only him, but it isn’t exactly lavish or fit to house a King. It’s an unmarked vehicle that rides in a random point in their formation. Unless an enemy watches them set out, none will know his location in their lines. It’d been the best idea they’d been able to conjure up to protect him on the road.

And what a long road it’ been. Another two months had passed since Gronder, even though they’d made little forward headway realistically. Their battles had taken them from Gronder itself to Fort Merceus, and even if said fortress hadn’t been terribly difficult to quell, the Death Knight himself had been there.

Mercedes had taken over for all of them, however. She’d have certainly lost to him had he been trying his hardest, but Byleth could see at the time how little Jeritza wished to fight his sister. He hadn’t perished, though not from lack of trying. Hell, he’d stabbed himself in the stomach, and it’d taken all of Mercedes’ medical expertise to keep him going through that.

Well, that and her angry beratement of him, which had somehow eventually led to Jeritza laughing quietly as he rested on the ground.

“Alright…” Emile had said. “You win.”

Lindhardt and Casper had been defeated as well, the former actively thanking her for the break from battle (which she’d been able to see for the joke it had been) and the latter letting her know that even though he’d lost that time, he’d be ready come the next. She’d appreciated both answers (in the way a parent loves their children no matter what they’ve done) as she’d packed them into their transport, and shipped them back to Garreg Mach.

They can rejoin them after this war is over, until then, she’ll keep them out of sight, out of mind, and therefore, hopefully, out of danger.

Another month had passed, and they’d made steady headway into Empire territory. There’d been close calls, but nothing she’d had to use a pulse on. She feels she should be more surprised by that… but honestly, she’s gotten pretty good at this over the course of her six millennia.

Now, standing on the edge of Embarr as she watches pegasi and wyverns take to the air on the horizon, blitzing their way as they prepare an initial assault, she finds she feels no fear. Ashe raises his hand in response, the signal for his archers, who Byleth had not-so-coincidentally advised for them to load out first, to notch arrows.

They fire into the swarm of flyers a moment later, and Byleth and the rest of the Blue Lions watch as most of them back off or, in the case of a few, get shot down. Those that are hit crash onto the streets, already dead from the arrows, or, more bleakly, from the fall.

When the rest of their group has finished unloading, and geared up fully, Dimitri addresses them all.

“This is it.” The king speaks, and though his voice is quieter, not quite booming over the soldiers present, she understands he is addressing them all. “We’ve come this far, fought as hard as we could… this… this is the end. Everyone!” Now his voice rings out, and the soldiers at the back of the formation look towards him, determination set in their brows. “This is to be our final battle with the Empire! I ask only that you come back alive, and with victory in hand!”

The rank and file cheer, a resounding noise that shakes the very ground around them. Byleth herself joins in, finding it easier to sink into the masses rather than go against them for whatever reason.

She watches as their commanders, Ingrid, atop her mighty Pegasus, Sylvain, riding below her atop a blackened steed, and Dedue, clad in armor as thick as the fortress walls of Merceus, march forward. Their frontline is power itself, packing resistances to physical attacks with Dedue’s knight corps, and the ability to pick off mages that would try and threaten them with Ingrid’s pegasi corps. Sylvain is there to run interference, helping either wherever he can, but also being their prime way of breaking formations with his cavalry.

Behind him lay Annette’s mages, who follow along the other three at a subdued pace, Ashe’s sniper corps, who will file in after them, and their assorted ranks. Among them are Flayn, Felix, and the heaping helping of teachers and staff that’d come along for the ride. Alois is up front with Dedue, and Shamir works with Ashe as his second in command, with Cyril following along behind her, but other than them, everyone else is in the assorted troop.

They are commanded by Dimitri himself, who walks in front of them, his spear, Areadbhar, humming in his hand, seemingly waiting for the carnage that will soon follow.

Behind them, and ready to intercept any wounded, are Mercedes and her medical corps. After Marianne’s departure, the second in command role has been given to a man whose name Byleth does not know, likely a random, unimportant person, which is a happening rare enough to be worth mention.

She looks towards the buildings of the town they’re beginning to infiltrate, and sees a few archers lining up on top. For most, they’d be out of reach, a good fifteen or so feet off the ground.

For her…

_“Sothis?”_

_“Yeah?”_ Her patron goddess asks, appearing at her side.

_“Ready to wreak some havoc?”_

Sothis merely smiles.

_“I do believe I am.”_

She charges into the city proper without delay.

\-----

“You’ve certainly improved.”

“Many thanks from me, Professor.”

She smiles, Petra’s slightly broken language is a charm in and of itself, even past the girl’s natural attractiveness. Elegant and refined, her sword swings forward with far more strength than it had two months ago, when they’d last dueled.

She has clearly rested in preparation for today, unlike last time, when she’d been a walking husk of exhaustion.

In the distance, she can see Dimitri’s troops marching on Hubert’s position. She knows they will be victorious, for, as smart, and powerful as Hubert may be, he is hopelessly outmanned.

“I find myself imagining… you’ve come to save Edelgard?”

She nods, keying back into her battle with Petra just in time to catch the dagger aimed for her waist with her left hand. She turns the girl’s wrist, causing her to wince and drop the weapon, but pointedly avoids breaking the limb.

“You take it easy on me… why?”

“Because you’re my student, despite whatever’s happened.” Byleth winks at the girl. “It’s nothing more complicated than that.”

Petra seems to consider that for a moment, before she shakes her head, a wry smile adorning her lips.

“Then I suppose… I could leave her to you?”

She nods.

“We’ll save her.” She tells what she hopes to the goddess is the truth.

Petra acknowledges the earnestness of her expression with a nod, before jumping back and away from Byleth.

“I will be attending to the perimeter. I suppose… if you manage to convince Edelgard, I will come to assist.”

She nods, seeing no real problems with that, other than the aching of her own heart.

She still can’t quite manage to believe they’ll pull that off.

Scarred by too many lifetimes, scarred by too many times of an outstretched hand, a dagger that follows, and then…

Silence and pain.

She jumps from the roof they’d been fighting upon as Petra takes to the upper levels, running away as fast as her legs can carry her. Byleth does not begrudge her that. The girl is an assassin, not meant for frontline warfare, despite how often she’s tasked with it.

She links up with her main line just as they manage to knock Hubert down. He’s grasping at his side, panting as he looks up first at the men and women who’ve downed him, and then towards her. His eyes widen when he sees her, and she smiles to try and help reassure him.

“So, Professor… you’ve come, then.”

“I have.”

He breathes out a bitter laugh, one that causes him to huff slightly as he squeezes down on his side, evidently in pain. Unfortunately, it seems as if the man has broken a rib, for his breaths are labored even as he looks to her once again.

“If something happens to her… then I promise you this, Professor…” He glares. “I’ll have your head.”

Far from being cowed, those words merely set her at ease.

Hubert must see the relaxation in her visage, for his own briefly morphs into that of exasperation, before quickly changing back to a serious one.

“Watch yourself. Those Who Slither in the Dark will not give her up easily… nor will they accept being defeated without a fight.”

She nods, knowing that already.

“What have they told you? Any plans, any schemes?”

“Nothing.” Hubert admits, meeting her gaze and, for the first time in this lifetime, showing the tiniest bit of weakness in the shaking of his brow.

“And that’s what has me concerned.”

\-----

The castle is quiet.

Their steps echo on the cold marble floors, and the flames in the nearby braziers seem to be the only noise the place emits. It should be a time for relaxation, grabbing her bearings, preparing for the fight ahead. It’s far from over, after all.

Like Hubert had said, however, this scenario only has her more worried.

Had there been soldiers around every corner, mages firing spells, or a bombardment of evil runes from above, a sign that Edelgard had accepted the horrid amalgamation of the Hegemon Husk, then at least it would’ve been familiar, and therefore comforting. She’d taken on all of those hundreds, _thousands_ of times. She had strategies in place for every formation, every configuration.

But the nothingness… that is both new and unwanted.

Their forces have divided themselves into two. One had taken the dungeons below, springing Rhea free and bringing her back up with the rest of them. The other had taken to storming the throne room, defeating Edelgard, and rescuing her from Those Who Slither… and herself as well.

She has been assigned to the latter team, headed towards the throne room itself. Dedue’s unit, Annette’s unit, Flayn and her assortment of soldiers, and half of the medical unit had gone to the dungeons, leaving Ashe’s, Ingrid’s, and Sylvain’s units, along with Felix himself with them. They had the other half of the Medical unit as well.

They have a force just strong enough to assault the castle themselves… though that’s easily the case if they’re not going to be challenged along the way. Even still…

She hears a creak as she steps on the ground and instantly assumes it must be a magical trap. Instead, as she jumps away from it and holds her sword up, she is greeted only by the small laughter of some of the normal rank and file.

She turns around and glares at the crowd, but she’s unable to catch the ones responsible. Not like it matters, for acting as paranoid as she is, she _deserves_ to be laughed at.

But… but she just can’t accept that she’s wrong to be this paranoid.

Something will happen, no, something _must_ happen. It always has, and to her knowledge, it always will…

_“Right?”_

Before Sothis can get a word in edgewise, summoning herself to Byleth’s side, the door to the throne room has appeared in their sights. She stops dead in her tracks, even as her commanders step past her. Sylvain and Ingrid have both dismounted, and their forces, sat upon horses and pegasi respectively, guard the outside of the castle. The two themselves have joined up with the masses, filing in but still acting as leaders.

Even still, _their_ leader walks to stand just beside her, looking weakly towards the door just in front of them.

“That’s it.” Dimitri murmurs quietly. “That’s the end… right there.”

“The end for Edelgard.” She speaks, before realizing the poor choice of words. “That is-”

“I knew what you meant, Professor.” The man smiles down at her, but it’s labored ever so slightly. “We’ve still got the Agarthans to deal with, I’m aware. But… with El by my side… somehow I don’t think that will be very difficult.”

As he steps past her, making his way towards the door before them, she cannot help but smile at his back, at the hero Dimitri’s become.

His journey is her favorite, even without the dip into madness in the middle, it’s no less satisfying.

She breathes in, and out.

_“Ready?”_

She looks down at Sothis, who’s just addressed her, and nods.

 _“Good.”_ Her patron goddess smiles at her. _“Go. This… is the beginning of the end.”_

Now that… _that_ she can agree with.

\-----

Dimitri’s first steps into the throne room of the Adrestian Empire in five years are… muted.

Before, they had been nervous; uncertain. Now, they were as confident as he could make them. Then again, back then, he’d thought the same thing. He’d been making his footfalls heavier to try and sound more imposing back then, and he almost cringed nowadays thinking about how idiotic he’d been. How, even past that behavior, El had still sought him out.

He shakes his head, looking towards the throne at the back of the room, and finding the ghost of a smile pass along his features. In the seat, gazing his way with steel in her eyes, is El, a living weapon hanging just below her, within reach of her right hand.

It pulses dangerously as she smiles sadly.

“Professor, Dimitri…” She gives a nod to each of them. “It’s good to see the both of you. It’s… been a terribly long time, has it not?”

An understatement. The two of them haven’t been able to talk in five years, half a decade. A good fifth of his life, more than that, even, has been spent waiting for this moment, this chance at bringing El back.

He will not squander it.

“It has, El.” He opens, studying her expression and seeing a total lack of… anything within it. The earlier sadness has passed, now replaced with an apathetic stare. “I… I’d like to ask you first and foremost… please, come back to the Monastery with us. Together we can rout these–”

“Surely you must know my answer by now, Dimitri?”

Her voice brings him pause. Five years ago, it had decimated him. Her words, that there had been no mistake, that she had _intended_ to betray them, had broken his spirit. Only his Professor’s encouragement had been able to rescue him from that state, and even then, it was the assistance of Sylvain, Ingrid, Ashe, Felix, Dedue, Mercedes, Flayn, and Annette that’d truly saved him.

Not all of them are behind him right now. Some are down below, raiding the dungeons to rescue the Archbishop, but the ones that are seemed to step forward, silently offering their support to him.

He will not falter. Not here, not now.

“And surely you must know I won’t accept your answer, not when I know it hurts you to say it.”

“Oh?” El’s face darkens somewhat. “You presume to know how I feel?”

“I would think it more than a presumption.” He steps forward, noticing a shadow along the ceiling that he hadn’t before. He gives his soldiers a small signal with his right hand, and he prays that at least one of them catches it. “You told me how you felt, and I did the same for you. I assumed then, that night, that we were being entirely honest with one another. Was I incorrect?”

El’s lips contort, and though it is not an obvious reaction, he can see the way she wants to snap or scream at him, and how she holds that back.

Before she can say another word, the shadow on the ceiling begins to fall. He breaks Areadbhar out off of his back and swings it upwards, cutting one of the men who’d been set to ambush him in half before he reaches the ground.

Another assassin swings at him from behind, but his Professor’s Sword of the Creator lances outwards, meeting the woman’s own and knocking her backwards, towards the throne at the back of the room. 

He recognizes the girls face, even past the new scars and marks that adorn her body.

_“Kronya.”_

El rises from her throne, taking up her living axe with a horrid dread. He can see it in the way her eyes are lifeless, and her steps are feeble and weak. It is not that she lacks the strength, but that she lacks the power.

Twenty or more figures enter the room in some way after that, emerging from wardrobes, or side rooms, or even from the ceiling as the first few had, all of them Agarthan warriors. From the way they handle their weapons, they’re good, and Dimitri can tell that each likely measures up to one of the Blue Lions. They’ll be tough opponents.

Before he can step towards the throne, towards Kronya and El, his Professor has placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me handle that one.” Byleth points with the tip of her sword, towards where the orange-haired minx is standing. He nods, having wanted nothing to do with her in the first place. “You focus on swaying Edelgard.”

He nods again. “I will.”

His teacher, a beacon of hope and positivity, a person whose very image he’d latched onto once upon a time, gives him one last smile.

“Good luck.”

He gives her one back.

“To you as well.”

She is gone in another moment, her blade connecting with Kronya’s own with a loud clash of steel.

He himself cannot focus on their battle, as astounding to see out of the corner of his eye as it is. Their acrobatics, their ability, has no bearing on his own. He steps forward, flipping Areadbhar with his hand as he takes the three steps up to El’s throne.

She awaits him at the top, making no moves until he is across from her. He can hear the sounds of combat increase, likely his fellows taking their own blades to their enemies, and though he knows he cannot afford to worry about them…

Well, it doesn’t work all that well.

“Distracted?”

He snorts, for some reason finding amusement in the way El makes no move to attack him in his vulnerable state. She could’ve at the very least scored a good hit, knocking him to his knees as he’d been forced to take a disadvantageous position.

But no, she’d simply stood there and waited. Spoken to break him out of his reverie.

As if he’d needed any more evidence for himself, here he’d been presented with more.

“No, you have my undivided attention.”

El seems amused by that as well, flipping her weapon once or twice as she seems to try and adjust to its weight.

“Not wielded that many times?” He asks casually.

“You could tell off the spin?” She raises an eyebrow. “You truly are one of a kind.”

He blushes, likely taking the wrong meaning from those words, though, from the small decline of El’s brow, she’d meant for him to.

They stand there for a moment, doing nothing, even as a war rages behind them. A scream echoes out, and it is only the fact that it is not one he recognizes that prevents him from turning around.

He can only hope that it is one of the Agarthans who’s met their end.

“I will ask one final time,” He decides. “Come back with us. Help us retreat from the Empire. We’ll return to the Monastery, we’ll defeat the Agarthans, and then we can be to-”

“You know their names?” El’s face is briefly concerned, before a flash of realization crosses it. “Ah, the Professor really was the oddity, then?”

_“So El had suspected the Professor?”_

“Yes.” He speaks, finding no real harm in admitting that. “She knew them, figured out their secrets from a traitor to their organization. They’re long dead now.”

The woman opposite him hums.

“You didn’t let me finish, though.”

The girl looks at him, and he can see just the tiniest bit of sorrow in her gaze.

“Must I ruin your hopes once more?”

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Negotiations have broken down. Now… now they must fight.

But even still… he refuses to let her have the last word. There’s simply something within him that’s been burning, ever since those five years past.

“Your father… I take it he’s passed?”

El’s eyebrows briefly arch up in the center, a telltale sign of grief. It is all he needs, even past her admission. “He has.”

That… is a shame. Dimitri had only known the man for a couple of minutes, but in that time he’d gotten the picture of a man who’d have done anything for his country… or, well, perhaps not anything.

He’d certainly have done anything he could’ve for El, though, even if, from his knowledge of the girl’s past, he hadn’t always. But people change; El herself is a prime example of that. The version of the man he’d met had likely been at his very best.

But still, the man’s last words for him stuck out the most, and he found himself smiling as he recalled them.

_“I merely want the best from my daughter… and, to go back to your earlier question… I am telling you this… because I feel you do as well.”_

“Your father told me something, you know?”

El looks surprised, and it is at that moment he confirms the age-old question that’d filled his mind.

Ionius had been looking out for her, had _known_ of Those Who Slither, had _known_ of the fate she’d chosen for herself, and been thrust into…

And he’d asked Dimitri to help her escape it.

“I’m to help you. To help you find your way in this world that would seek to rob you of yourself, and to drag you back if you’re led astray.” He smiles as he readies himself for the next few words, holding out Areadbhar towards the girl and giving a ‘come’ gesture with his left hand. “Kicking and screaming if I have to.”

El’s eyes widen, and he can tell the shock there is true. Before she can show more weakness to him, however, she ruthlessly cuts it down, bringing her axe to bear with her own right hand, and steeling her nerve.

“I won’t allow it.”

“That’s fine. I don’t really care what you’ll allow anymore.” He tries to show me means that as nicely as he can. “And after it’s all over… I’ll accept your hate, your rage, and your anger, as long as you’re away from these people… as long as you’re alive to have those feelings.”

El shakes her head, a look on her face that is at the same time both determination and regret. She will see this through to the end, that he can tell.

And in the next moment she’s upon him.

Whatever this weapon she’s been gifted is; it is far lighter than any axe he’s been faced with before. Its strikes are quick and light, and yet, somehow, whenever they ghost across his armor, they leave no less damage than something made with steel or silver.

In almost every way that matters, he would say it is a heroes relic. And yet…

He has read over those stories since he’s been a boy; he would know if there had been an axe among the numbers of the Heroes’ Relics aside from Freikugel.

Whatever the bladed edge is does not particularly matter, though. It makes contact with his own lance, Areadbhar, with around the same weight as a wooden axe would. That it does the damage of silver is of no note.

He will simply not allow it to hit him.

He ducks underneath one of El’s next attacks, striking against her body with Areadbhar. She has a fairly strict advantage in this fight, in that he feels she is _willing_ to kill him (perhaps not desiring to, but will if it comes down to it), whereas he isn’t even willing to come close. He will injure her to the point where she can no longer fight, and no further.

So, the wound he lands on her is shallow, a hit to the rib that, at worst, has bruised the bone. From El’s expression, he has underestimated his strength, and has done at least that. He hopes he has not broken the bone, and it is in that moment, entirely distracted by sympathy, that she nearly lops off his head.

He’s just the teeniest bit faster, though, getting the haft of his lance up in time to intercept the blow. It is enough to send him skidding along the tiled floor of the throne room, however, and mid-slide, he cannot exactly control his destination. He swears as El charges right at him, jumping up and seeming to channel energy into her weapon.

“Raging Storm!”

The blow that hits the ground below them stuns him, forcing him back and away, and nearly knocking him down on his ass. Luckily, his stance had been just good enough to keep him on his feet, but even so, El seems to have actually _gained_ speed from the usage of her ability. She moves quickly, landing blows on his lance in two places on the haft, and she screams as she punches a hole in his guard, and lands a third hit.

The blow is a severe one, chunking into his left pauldron, and a good inch or two into his shoulder. He bites down on the scream that wants to pour out on instinct, and instead decides he’ll use his own lances ability.

“Atrocity!”

Areadbhar’s skill echoes out of it, and the strength is enough to send El soaring backwards. She lands in a heap some fifteen feet back, nearly toppling her own throne over.

He’s underestimated her. The last time they’d fought, he’d defeated her in a single strike. Sure, it hadn’t exactly ended the battle, but he’d though the difference in their power enough to rest on his laurels; to achieve an easy victory.

Clearly that would not be so.

He forces his body to try and recuperate, to ignore the horrid pain in his shoulder, but to no avail. Instead, acquiescing with the pain, he draws a vulnerary from out of his coat and downs it quickly. The magic within is enough to begin closing his wound, but not nearly enough to get his left arm back into working order. He won’t be bleeding to death, but he’s fighting one-handed for the rest of this battle at least.

The way El looks at him as she stands up, sees the way he’s straining to get his arm to move, fruitlessly, inspires within him only sorrow. Her look is one of horrible guilt, and yet, at the same time, he knows she won’t hesitate to attack him again.

She comes just as predicted but a scant few moments later.

Her axe hits, this time, not the haft of Areadbhar, but a blade of purest silver. Her eyes widen as she sees the sword he’s drawn out, and she realizes the strategy he intends to employ. A spear generally takes two hands to wield, but a sword can certainly be handled with just the one. Thus, he’d slung his unique weapon onto his back.

He parries her next few blows, and silently thanks the Professor for all of those sword lessons five years ago that he’d sworn he had no need for. His skill with a lance he’d always found the superior, and so he’d been content to let his sword training rot before she got her hands on him.

_“Heh… sorry if I ever gave you trouble for that, Professor… I’ll buy you a meal sometime as thanks.”_

He deflects another blow and lands a small cut along El’s right arm. It’s not deep, and it barely bleeds, but it’s a start. Her next strike is slower, a sign that the wound is hurting at the very least.

He lands two more around her body, and then another on her left leg. The lightness of the weapon in his hand is proving just enough to overcome El, to dwarf her slower speed. He lets out a yell almost subconsciously as he flicks his sword underneath her blade and hits the handle of her axe.

The weapon flies into the air, embedding itself in the wall behind them as he lets out a breath.

The battle, at least this first stage, has come to an end.

El looks at her weapon a little longer than is perhaps necessary. She makes no move to retrieve it, and yet… she simply stares at it. When she seems to have finally had enough, she sighs, and turns back towards Dimitri, the view in her eyes complicated and unsure.

“Surrender, El.” He demands more than asks, holding his sword up to her even if they both know he’ll do nothing with it.

“And if I don’t?”

Leave it to her to immediately call him on that. He lets his sword drop down as El lets out another breath, not of nervousness or worry like one might’ve expected upon having a sword be lowered from their breast, but instead, one of exhaustion.

Dealing with her Empire, dealing with the Agarthans, dealing with Dimitri’s own armies, and everything in between… he can only imagine how tiring that must be.

And now, if his theory is correct, dealing with what she is preparing to do.

Even still, though he feels a bit guilty about it, he can do nothing to liberate her of that feeling. Nothing but take her along with him, free her from her sworn duty.

“Please, El…” He grasps his own breastplate, above his heart. “Come back with us. I don’t want us to have to fight any longer, not when the result is obvious. _Please,”_ He stresses. “I don’t care what they did to you, and I don’t care what happens to me because of it. You’re… you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t think I could last without you by my side.”

Far from being the winning line that’d instantly flip El to his side, his words only cause the girl opposite him to sneer.

“You don’t care what they did to me, hm?” She laughs, actually laughs. “You want to spend the rest of your life with me… how foolish. And if I went with you, If I sacrificed my goal of uniting the world, to live a cushy life in the Kingdom… so what?”

He tenses.

“We’d… be happy.”

“Perhaps I would be, in a selfish, lethargic way.” El shakes her head. “But no. You wouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those experiments? Those ones that you supposedly don’t care about. They drastically affected my body’s overall structure.” She smiles, though Dimitri can see the ghost of her sadness hanging behind her. “My hair isn’t just white from the stress of those experiments, or from the crests that’ve been implanted within me. It’s white because, by all accounts, I’m nearing the natural end of my life.”

His heart pulses, a pain so intense there that he barely stays on his feet. He feels his hands shake, and his breath quicken. His left arm spasms, and the pain of that event causes him to bite down on his bottom lip. If the iron taste in his mouth is anything to go by, he’s drawn blood.

“Wha…”

El’s smile contains no joy, no mirth, or happiness. There is only pity there, pity for _him._

“So… she didn’t tell you that about me, did she… the Professor.”

His shock only grows.

“How did you know she told me about you?”

El shakes her head.

“Because she’s always been far, far too receptive. I’ve had my suspicions she might’ve known about me from the start, but… no, never mind.” El looks towards him. “That’s not important. What’s important now is…”

His eyes widen as El somehow closes the gap between them, preying upon the smallest moment of weakness, the time between his eyes opening and closing for a blink. It shouldn’t be enough, and yet, as the girl draws out a blade from her backside, and tries to slam it down on his throat, he’s only barely able to bring his hands up in a crossbar, blocking it from descending further.

It hovers an inch, if that, from his face.

His left arm _screams,_ but he can do nothing but strain and grind his teeth together to mask the pain as he meets her gaze.

“What the hell…” He grunts, the effort required to hold El at bay grinding him into the tile beneath him. “Are you doing!?”

“What I must.” Is the girls only response.

He is brought back to their clash at the Tomb of the Goddess… when they’d said those exact words to one another. Back when he’d been so easily consumed with rage at those words. Now… no, he will not be swayed, not by such a weak will.

El is lying to herself. It’s obvious in the pain that surrounds her visage, in the way her hands shake, in the way the force of her attack is weakening, and in the way her dagger–

The blade almost manages to push through his defenses as his eyes widen further. He catches the way El lets up at his faltering, as if trying _not_ to stab him, but his mind isn’t focused on that.

_“That dagger…”_

It is the one he’d given her.

His wavering heart, uncertain and undeserving of the girl above him, steadies itself. He finds strength return to his limbs where it had been absent a few moments prior, and finds his breath come back.

He cannot afford to hyperventilate on the ground like a child, or collapse into a fit of sobs as El warps away in front of him. Not again.

This has to be it. He will not let her go again.

He refuses.

His next movement is to shift his arms on a dime, to shock El into a moment, a tiny, empty bit of time that she won’t act on. It works, her eyes widen, and she briefly forgets about the dagger in her hand.

His own shoots out, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her arm down. She keys into his actions a second too late, trying to wrest back control over her left side before he can fully capture her…

But it’s too late. He bats away her left hand, knocking the dagger out of it and scattering it to the floor, takes her right hand…

And pulls her into his body, hugging her against him.

“What the hell are you doing!?” She hisses, struggling against him.

He cannot resist.

“What I must.”

El evidently catches his wordplay, for she growls, trying once more to dislodge herself. For perhaps the first time in his life, he thanks his body for its obscene strength.

“El… listen to me, okay?”

She headbutts his chin, nearly making him bite his own tongue off. A bit of anger flashes through his system, but he knows what she’s trying to do, now. He lets it pass through and out of him, expelling it in a calm breath. When he looks back down at her pouting face, and it feels odd to call the expression there a pout, but he truly cannot come up with anything else, it is with a reassuring smile.

“I don’t care… if your life is short…” He finds himself meaning the words as he speaks them. There is no lie there, and he hopes El can hear that, feel that. “The fewer years we’ll spend together… we’ll make them worth a lifetime.”

El laughs mirthlessly, and though her physical struggles have stopped, he has a feeling her emotional struggles have only just begun.

“And what if… I didn’t want to live alongside _you._ What if… all this time, I’ve been stringing you along. I chose to bind you to me that night. I chose to trap you at my side, so you’d forever serve my will… that was all that night between us was.”

For some reason, the very notion of that amuses him, and he finds that mirth bubbling up in his chest and emerging from his mouth as a laugh.

“Then I suppose you succeeded. I’m inevitably tied to you and will forever seek you out. Congratulations, your efforts were a massive success.”

The girl glares at him, even as he smiles down at her. She forces him to the side ever so slightly, in such a way that his left pauldron begins to dig into the wound she’d brought about in his shoulder.

He clenches his teeth in an effort to ignore that pain, even if it’s hard.

“Besides… I don’t believe that for a second.”

El’s eyes narrow further.

“Oh… do tell.”

“You make it seem like that night was the trick, and everything since then has been your own will, what you truly wanted… and I think the exact opposite. I don’t think you’ve truly lived for yourself a single time since that night.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?”

El’s face contorts, though she gives nothing else up.

_“I fear… come the morrow, I will not have much time for myself in my day to day activities. I would like to… to make the most of tonight.”_

“You’ve been the Empress since that day, but I’d be hard pressed to believe… that you’ve been Edelgard.” He somehow manages to find her hand in the mess of limbs that has become their… he hesitates to use the word ‘hug’ to describe it. “I want you to do what it is you truly want. I want you to accomplish your dreams, to see the world you desire come to fruition. If you truly believe that this world is one where the both of us cannot exist… then I won’t stop you.”

He releases her, and she practically flies back. She draws her dagger back and points it at him. It should make for an intimidating sight… but for some reason, he feels no fear. There is nothing in his heart for El but love.

He reaches down and unstraps his breastplate. It clatters to the floor below him with a loud crash, and he looks back up at El’s shell-shocked expression with a tranquil smile.

“I’d only ask you kill me quickly if that’s the case.”

“What…” Her voice is a quiet whisper.

“Though, well, I’m pretty sure the Professor will forgive you, but my friends might not. Take it easy on them, okay?”

“Stop…”

“Felix especially, he’s rambunctious and a bit of an asshole, but it’s pretty clear… well, he’s like a brother to me. I’m pretty sure the feelings mutual by this point, oh, and Sylvain might be upset, but-”

“SHUT UP!”

He does as commanded, looking El in the eye as she pants horrendously, her breasts swelling and her hands shaking. The point of the dagger within them oscillates from side to side.

“Do you think… your life… is a **_fucking joke_**!?” El screeches at him, her eyes filled with rage.

“No, I don’t.” He answers with a small shake of his head. “But you seem to think yours is.”

El’s face drains of blood, pale to a degree he’s never seen a person before. He almost feels some guilt there… but no. No hesitation.

“I saw what you were trying to do.” He shakes his head. “Even when you had a killing strike, or a blow that might’ve become one, you instead aimed for my left arm. You could’ve struck my side, or my leg, and seriously crippled me… but you struck the one place I could take a hit and keep going.”

El’s face betrays nothing, and yet, somehow, it betrays everything. She is trying too hard to keep a grasp on her emotions, and thusly, is showing them.

“You kept meaning to anger me into acting against you, or convincing me that you were too far gone, or you kept trying to put yourself into a position where you’d be killed.” He feels a real sadness in his breast as he looks up towards her. “You think it’s over; you think your dream is dead, that this is the end. And… if I had to guess, you don’t want to hurt us any longer. So… you think that the best way for the world to be at peace… is for you to _die_.”

The way her eyebrows furrow, and her lip trembles as if there’s a chill in the air, betrays that he’s correct. She says nothing, though, and he’s left with no other choice than to keep going.

“Well…” He takes a breath, ponders if the thing he’s about to say is _really_ all he can think of to say, and, upon realizing it is, says it. “Tough shit.”

He’s not sure what it is about those words that has El staring up at him as if stricken, but there’s certainly something.

“There’s nothing I desire more than living by your side. I don’t care how long that lasts, and I don’t care if I have to war against the entire world for it.” He makes direct eye contact, staring at El until she turns away. “All I ask is… if you truly don’t feel the same, then use that dagger you’ve got there… and end it. Carve a path to the future you truly desire, no matter what it may be.”

He calls back to that final time they’d seen each other as children, his final words from back then could, perhaps, end up becoming his final words to El entirely.

He finds he does not mind that so much.

With that, he holds his arms out at his sides, lowers his head, and closes his eyes.

He had said at first that he’d be satisfied as long as El had survived, but… that’s not the truth. He’d much rather her be happy, do what she _truly_ believes she wants to do. Whatever happens now… he has said his piece. He will feel no anger, no spite, no malice if she chooses to stab out his heart. But… he cannot deny there will be sorrow if that comes to pass.

He hears her footsteps, even past the battle behind him, which he has only just now keyed back into. It sounds as if it is a solitary duel, a one on one. If he has to guess, he’d say it’s probably Byleth and Kronya. They seem the only two even close to evenly matched enough, and skilled enough, to be making the noises he’s hearing, nearly three metal clashes a second.

He can only hope his friends are alright, though, judging by the fact the room is silent, and not filled with any aching cries or screams, he assumes none of them have been too severely injured.

When he finally has nothing left to do but wait for El’s decision, he feels a prick on the tip of his left pectoral, like a needle. It is followed by a sharp pain that erupts from just over his heart, and he can tell the dagger in El’s hands is poised directly over it, digging into the fabric of his undershirt.

He does not show the pain he feels, does not want to burden her. He will not guilt her into this. If she truly wishes to kill him…

The blade hovers there for a period of time that seems almost ephemeral. It seems like an eternity, and yet, if one had told him that it had only been a second or two, he would’ve believed them. In the next moment, the pain fades, and the sound of metal striking tile echoes across the room. 

“You’re an idiot.”

He’s not yet sure how to react. He doesn’t open his eyes, though, really, he’s not sure why. A self-imposed rule? Because it doesn’t feel right yet?

“I’ve been told that before.” He answers.

He hears El give a small, quiet sound of acknowledgement.

And then, with no further fanfare, she leans against him.

It is such a faint, almost ethereal contact as her arms wrap around him. He cannot for the life of him understand why his eyes immediately swell with tears at the feeling, because it’s not like the hug confirms anything he doesn’t already know.

But even still, tears streak down his face, and he laughs, a freeing, airy laugh as he opens his eyes, and looks down at El.

She is looking up at him as well, though she isn’t crying. She’s giving him a light frown, reaching up and wiping away at the droplets that hang around his eye. After doing so, she buries herself again in his chest, her face still uncertain.

“Are you sure?” She asks for what he can only assume is the final time.

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment.

“I am.”

“I’m… not going to make this easy… I’m not giving up on revitalizing Fódlan. Even past when we destroy Those Who Slither, If Rhea still won’t concede, then…”

“I’ll be by your side. No matter what.”

She nods into his chest. Though, a second later, she gives a light breath of mirth.

“You smell horrible.”

He glares down at her, trying to keep the overwhelming joy out of his feigned annoyed expression.

“Yes, well, forgive me, there was a critical lack of servants to bathe me as I road in the back of a carriage for a good half a year, unlike a certain someone.”

The girl in his arms snorts.

“Should’ve created the world’s first washing battalion.” She jokes horrendously, eyeing him with a humor he has not seen in her expression for a good five years. “That or made Felix do it.”

He tries desperately not to crack at that.

He fails.

“I’ll have to talk with our commanders about the feasibility of the ‘washing battalion’ as it were…” He shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. “And as for Felix, I’m nearly certain he’d have stabbed me.”

“Eh, 50/50.” El argues. “Worth a shot, I’d say.”

Their conversation is a waste of time, assuredly. It contains no meaning, no message, no point. And yet, as his laughter echoes around the corridor, he can’t really find it in himself to care. He feels free, and light, and despite being a great distance from his palace in the Kingdom, or even from Garreg Mach…

He feels like he’s home.

\-----

Byleth finds that her emotions are a bit of a wreck by the time Edelgard drops the dagger in her hands, and hugs Dimitri close to her.

The last few minutes have been a veritable rollercoaster, and that’s not even counting the fact that she’s been dueling Kronya the entire time. She feels a bit bad for the girl, because she’s clearly putting in her best effort, whereas Byleth has been giving at best two-thirds of her attention, and still holding on against her.

She’s far from striking a winning blow, but at the same time, that’s never been her intention.

Watching as Dimitri had thrown his breastplate to the ground… now that had had her heart pumping a bit more than she’d have liked. And when Edelgard had stepped towards him, the dagger poised to take out his heart… she’d had hold of a pulse the entire time, even if she hadn’t been sure Dimitri would’ve wanted it.

When she’d let the dagger clatter to the ground, finally accepting Dimitri’s invitation… it’d been like a weight that’d been hanging over her for months, years, centuries, _millennia_ had been lifted.

 _“No… can’t count my chickens til’ they hatch.”_ She has to remind herself, focusing back into her battle with Kronya, and parrying a blow that Kronya then intercepted with one of her whip-like tails.

 _“Probably a good idea.”_ Sothis seems to agree. _“I’d like for this to be it… but something still doesn’t feel right.”_

She finds herself agreeing. This… things can’t work out this easily. Call her paranoid if one wishes, hell, she herself has called herself paranoid _today,_ but Byleth won’t be caught unawares.

Kronya’s next few hits are lightning fast, striking five times in a second. Byleth can’t block that many, and instead takes the chaff, those hits designed purely to distract from others, on the edges of her skin, powering through the pain and calling upon a Ruptured Heaven.

It’s energy rips up the room around them, and she gives a silent apology to Edelgard for ruining her throne room as she dashes in again, preying on Kronya’s bewildered form. Instead, she’s met with both of the girl’s tails, which nearly sever her head from her spine. She takes a breath, focusing harder, and cuts across her left side.

It’s a successful gambit, and it’s just barely enough for her to juke across the girl’s front, feinting that she’d go behind, and cut at her hand. It’s not a deep wound, but she hadn’t really been aiming for the flesh.

Athame is ripped away, and she does a jumping spin to both catch the blade in her off hand and avoid the girl’s twin whips. She lands a few feet away, and points both weapons at Kronya.

“Surrender.”

The girl growls, an almost animalistic snarl emerging from her maw as she grasps at her face.

“Why…” Kronya shakes her head, clawing down the sides of her skull. “Why won’t you just _fucking kill_ _me already_!?”

From anyone else, that question would sound absurd. From someone of the Agarthans, though… well, it makes a sick amount of sense. Kronya is, likely, being brutally tortured for each of her failed attempts to defeat Byleth. Each blight likely earning her a worse punishment.

She can see those results on her skin, scars that cover her entire body. They are not all shallow, either, but they are all placed in areas that will not affect her ability to fight. She’d be tortured, likely, for the third time now. Once in her failing to kill Jeralt, a second when she’d been defeated at Gronder…

And again, after today.

By letting her go, she lets the girl survive, but…

She inevitably hurts her as well.

“Because I don’t want you to die.” She speaks. “It’s not a complicated thing.”

Kronya lowers her head, the scratches she’s left in it bleeding and dripping down onto her cheeks and chin. She falls to her knees, her entire body limp and lifeless. Byleth winces upon seeing that but can’t really focus on her right now.

“Dimitri, Edelgard!” She calls to the two, who have, rather awkwardly, been hugging and staring into each other’s eyes for the last five or so minutes. “What’s the plan?”

The two cough as they separate, Dimitri pointedly looking away from her, and instead at the rank and file soldiers. He finds no more success there, as the main army is getting a kick out of his expression as well, hooting and hollering and just in general making an ass of their king.

Sylvain gives a particularly enthusiastic wolf whistle as Felix elbows him in the ribs.

“We’ll make a calm retreat through the castle.” The man says quite seriously, even past the blush on his face. “Upon exiting outside, we’ll make it clear; the war between the Kingdom and the Empire… is over.”

The cheer that comes with that message is enough to make even her, riddled with anxiety and paranoia, crack a smile.

“Now, we turn out attention to Those Who-”

The door to the throne room practically collapses open, and a lone figure wanders in. There are burns all over his body, and he looks to be in a horrid state. Byleth recognizes him as a member of Sylvain’s cavalry unit, and curses as the implications of that hit her.

“General Dimitri… they… Those Who Slither… attacked us…” He murmurs, barely standing as he shambles towards the Blue King. “They’re… surrounding the castle… you need… to get out of here!”

He falls to the floor, and instantly, the medical unit is upon him. It won’t be enough, and perhaps they all know that. His wounds are too severe.

 _“Knew it couldn’t be that easy.”_ She mutters quietly.

 _“When is it ever?”_ Sothis crosses her arms. _“Get ready. The real fight's just beginning!”_

She nods as she turns towards Dimitri.

“Dimitri! Edelgard!” She screams, trying to shock them into action. “We need to move!”

The two turn towards her, and both nod. Dimitri grabs his and Edelgard’s weapons, while the girl picks up her dagger, before they descend the few steps towards the rest of the group. Byleth looks down towards Kronya, and, feeling a twinge of pity, kneels down.

“You could come with us, y’know?”

Kronya’s eyes rise to meet hers, even though her gaze is depressively weak.

“You don’t have to, but… wouldn’t that be a better life than sticking with them?”

The girl actually smiles, but unfortunately, she reaches out, and pushes Byleth away.

“I’m afraid me and your little band of children don’t mesh very well, sorry.” Kronya shakes her head. “But honestly… you really are…”

Before the girl can get another word in edgewise, the castle physically shakes.

“Isn’t that your cue to leave?” The girl looks up at her face. “Forget about me. Save lover boy and his pretty little princess over there. That’s what you came here for, right?”

Byleth shakes her head, unable to fathom what must be going on in Kronya’s head. Before she can think of anything else to possibly sway her, she’s standing, taking Athame in her left hand, and following Dimitri’s heated orders to leave the castle.

She takes one last look at the girl behind her before she rounds the corner and is off into the palace halls.

This time through, the corridors are packed with enemies. Mages rain spells upon their units from afar, while warriors work to cut down on their front line and prevent them from making any progress. 

Archers fire arrows, one of which embeds itself into her shoulder. She seethes quietly as she removes the head and uses a small bit of her healing magic on herself. It’s enough to close the wound, though not quite enough to get rid of the pain.

The halls are horrendously cramped as their units step around the bodies of those they’ve destroyed, but, slowly, steadily, they’re making their way out of the palace.

They meet up with the dungeon party a minute later. They emerge to bail them out of a fairly deadly flank. From the looks of things, they’d had just as easy of a time as them getting in, but hell getting out. The blood on them looks fresh, minutes old, if that.

In the arms of one of Flayn’s soldiers is the collapsed Rhea, who is white as a sheet, suspiciously pale. From the way her breasts swell every second or two, it’s obvious she’s alive, but even still, Byleth cannot remember the last lifetime she’d seen the woman in such a state.

Combined, though, they are a match for the forces that’ve shown themselves.

It is as they emerge into the entry hall, a room as large and wide as it is tall and grandiose, that they meet the toughest resistance. The evidence of both Sylvain’s cavalry unit and Ingrid’s pegasi unit having been annihilated are everywhere, and though a few are alive, perhaps fifty from either group, they’re in horrible shape. She hears the groups commanders suck in their breaths, before the two childhood friends unleash that rage on the Agarthans around them.

Past this devastation, however, they’ve had no real problems getting out. This force is not one large enough to defeat them. Hell, it is barely one large enough to stall them, so where–

“PROFESSOR!”

She is moving before Edelgard’s voice has finished ringing out. She has no idea where the attack is coming from but judging from the way her former student’s voice warbles, she can only imagine she is about to _be_ attacked. She feels around, trying to sense the assailant, and realizes that if she can’t sense them, it can really only be one person. She turns, and turns, and…

And she realizes the assailant is coming from above a moment too late to stop him.

Something pierces through her chest, directly through where her heart would be. The pain is catastrophic, but she can ignore that with sheer will, instead, she pulls herself off of the weapon that’s gouged out a part of her, landing a few feet away in a heap.

She makes to stand up, but her limbs feel weak, horribly so. She only barely manages to get to her knees when a voice rings out in her head.

_“Hey!”_

It’s Sothis’ voice, and she turns towards it. Beside her, standing there and seemingly trying to help her stand, is the tiny goddess herself.

_“C’mon, you have to move! You can’t be… –till!”_

The goddesses voice is fluctuating for some strange reason. She shakes her head, well, tries, but quickly finds her head unresponsive. Odd.

On the edge of her consciousness, she hears a maniacal laugh, and recognizes the one it belongs to. She gazes up into the face of Thales, standing before her with a good fifteen soldiers, and a victorious expression on his face.

“I’ve done it… Hahahaha… I’ve done it!” Thales cackles, even as Edelgard and Dimitri throw themselves at his line of soldiers, but they must be the absolute pinnacle of the Agarthans, his personal guard, for they give little ground to the two. “Oh, do me a favor, Ms. Eisner. Just to test something for me, reach into your chest and try and pull one of your little resets, would you?”

Her face drains entirely of blood as the reality of what he’s saying catches up to her. She dives into her mindscape, and grasps for where a pulse would usually be, pulling as hard as she can on that feeling.

…and nothing happens.

But it’s different from when she’s out of them. There, at least, there is a real sense that she’s simply empty. The tank itself, for lack of a better term, is still there, but it has no fuel. But… right now, it is as if the very tank itself has been stolen. There is… only absence.

“It didn’t work, did it?” The grin on Thales face is one of purest ecstasy.

She looks down at her own heart, or the now destroyed heart within the cavity that houses Sothis’ crest stone… and sees nothing. Her vision pulses with black spots, but she forces herself to turn, barely able to get herself off of the ground, and sees the device that Thales holds in his hand.

It is a staff, with some kind of orifice on the end, almost like a mouth. Inside it, suspended within some kind of liquid, is a crest stone.

 _Her_ crest stone.

_“By… -ve to… nd!”_

She turns, her mind beginning to falter, and sees Sothis’s image. It’s flickering, almost as if coming in and out of focus.

_“Byleth, I…”_

It’s been so long since she’s heard Sothis call her by her name. It feels like such a foreign word past the girl’s lips. She reaches out to her, her hand seeming to take an eternity to pass the small distance between them.

_“I–”_

Her hand touches Sothis just as her image fizzles out. Gone.

 _“So…this?”_ She calls out inside her head, even as her world seems to collapse in on her _. “Are, you…”_

There is no response.

Perhaps it is more accurate to say that there is no longer anyone there to hear her.

Despite the fact that her body feels absent, like she’s piloting another’s, she places a hand beneath her. Another follows, and she’s pushing herself off the ground. She cannot feel… anything other than pain, which is not a good sign.

She finds, at that moment, no energy to care about herself. Not the fact that, if she is stricken down, she will likely cease to be in this world entirely, and not the fact that her students are still fighting desperately, taking down soldier after soldier, to help her.

All she can do is clench her teeth, trying to ignore the blood pooling in her mouth, draw both The Sword of the Creator and Athame into her hands, gripping them far harder than she has any need to try and wield them at all, and scream.

“GIVE HER BAAACK!!”

Thales gives in response only a cold smirk.

She attempts to fling herself forward, use some of her acrobatics, but she falls flat on her face. Only just managing to get herself back off the floor, she unleashes the Sword of the Creator at the man.

It’s coils unlatch and… scatter in the general direction she’d been thrusting. They clatter lifelessly on the cold marble.

“I don’t think I will, seeing as how even your sword is an inanimate pile of bone without its crest stone to power it.” Thales replies sadistically, beginning to walk towards her. “This time, when you meet your end, your death will be rather permanent I’m afraid. No goddess to bring you back.”

He’s almost upon her when Edelgard breaks through his formation, whipping her new axe around and trying to lop off the man’s head. He dashes just past it, holding out his hand and unleashing a dark spell that’d been within it, likely one he’d had primed to kill her with.

“Professor!” Edelgard yells her name, but she finds herself zoning out. “PROFESSOR!”

She keys back into the girl’s words, but she can barely even see by the time Edelgard’s face has entered her periphery.

She’s still a good twenty or so feet from her, locked in combat with Thales.

“Professor – Shit, Dimitri! Get the Professor and get her out of here!”

“Yeah, I’m working on it, El!”

Help doesn’t seem to be coming. It’s all she can do to turn and face the man who’s flipped her over with the side of his foot. His is the visage of an Agarthan warrior, his self-assured expression matched only by the bloodlust in his eyes.

“Time to die, Fell Star!”

The blade in his hand descends, and she has a moment to think about how utterly terrible her life has been, with very few exceptions, before a woman has launched her foot into the man’s skull at a ridiculous speed. He is flung backwards into the wall behind him, making contact and sliding down it. Judging by the brain matter covering the wall behind him, he won’t be getting up.

In the next moment, she shears away three more of Thales’ personal guard, the only explanation being that they had not expected an attack from _her_ of all people. Byleth can attest to their feelings, as she herself hadn’t expected this either.

She’d initially thought the woman Edelgard, but no, her hair is too vibrant, and her smile too manic.

“Man, you duel me, and you somehow manage to beat me every time, but you take on my boss, and you, what, immediately lose without a fight?” Kronya snorts. “Kinda’ fuckin’ pathetic, if you ask me.”

“Why… are…” Her voice is too frail, too empty. It reminds her of her time with this girl in the snow, so very long ago, when _he’d_ been dying, entirely out of resets.

Instead of answering, Kronya blitzes forward, managing to get in between a strike meant to hit Edelgard from Thales. She whips her tails behind her as well, striking the last warrior that Dimitri had been dueling with the edge of it, and off-balancing him just enough for Dimitri to finish the man off.

“Hurry!” Kronya orders Dimitri forward. “Get your precious Professor out of here, this place will be swarming with soldiers soon now that she’s lost her power to stop him!”

“Now that the Professor’s lost… what?” Dimitri stutters.

“No time! Go!”

“R-right!” Dimitri runs towards her, and it’s at that point her eyes cease functioning. She’s still conscious, but she can’t see anything out of them anymore.

She’s jostled slightly, and she imagines, well, hopes, that that’s Dimitri picking her up. Judging by the way gravity flips for a moment, she thinks that’s correct.

“Why are you helping us?” It’s Edelgard’s voice that asks that question.

“Eh… who knows? But… I’d have probably been punished pretty hard for failing to beat her again anyways… if they didn’t just dispose of me outright. And… I just thought, fuck it. She’s the only person who’s ever been anything other than horrible to me… ever. Figured, hell, if I’m going out regardless, I might as well pay that back, even if I kept claimin’ I didn’t owe her shit.”

Just as Dimitri starts walking, Kronya calls out one final time.

“Oi, Lover boy! My sword!”

Athame is wrested from her fingertips, and from the sound of wind in the air, is thrown to Kronya. It slaps softly against her palm, likely her catching it, and that’s the last thing she can make out.

“Take care of her. And don’t you dare get cowed now, Byleth! Nor any of you kids! Win! Save your fucking precious little world!”

She can feel Dimitri’s entire body move as he nods.

They run for a long while, even as she fights off the tendrils of darkness trying to pull her into death. Honestly, she’s not sure how she’s lasted this long, though she thinks, like most things, it has to do with sharing a life force with Sothis. She is burning through the last dregs of that energy now. She cannot manage much longer, even as Dimitri’s voice tries to keep her from the door to the underworld.

“Hey, c’mon Professor, stay with me! We don’t have much farther! We’ll… we’ll finally get to be together again, all of us! We’ll go back to Garreg Mach, and everyone will be there, right? A real class reunion, won’t that be nice?”

Those words strike her harder than most, even past the fogginess that’s filling her head. They remind her of Claude’s own, a set he repeats often. She feels a blanket level of sorrow filling her body, along with what feels like…emptiness.

She’s felt this before. It’s what dying feels like.

She tries to resist it, but that’s all she’s been doing for the past few minutes anyways. There’s nothing more to do, other than to take Dimitri’s hand in her own, and squeeze down for comfort.

It barely makes an imprint on his skin.

She can hear him begin to scream something, likely her name, but it doesn’t really register in her head. There’s nothing left, and as her perception ceases, she realizes that this might be it.

She expires with a small sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there I was, looking at the U.S. Election and just generally stressing the hell out, writing Chapter 11 while doing so to take my mind off of things, when I decided to check Chapter 10 to keep my continuity in line.
> 
> When I arrived at the fic, however, I found only nine chapters... curiously, Chapter 10 was missing.
> 
> I had forgotten to upload it.
> 
> So yeah, it's been done for about a week and a half, that's my bad. 
> 
> Lastly, I'm very proud of the pun in the title. Given how much this fic in general focuses on hearts, it felt appropriate. And no, I am not sorry for any of the events that occur in this chapter. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoyed it, and don't hate me toooo much for the cliffhanger. Safe to say we've entered the endgame now. Next chapter will deal with fallout, though it should come sooner than this one did, so stay tuned!


	11. A Sputtering Flame, and a Truth at last Given

Hell is quieter than she'd expected, Byleth can't help thinking.

She’s not really sure what’s going on when her eyelids first trickle open, and she gets her first look at the black emptiness surrounding her. She spots only darkness to her left, and upon turning her head to the opposite side, her experiments bear similar fruit. As she inspects the floor beneath her, or the lack thereof, she realizes she must simply be floating… somewhere.

But… she cannot make out anything, and though her feet do not make contact upon anything as she tries to stand up, she still finds herself… well… standing. She herself is illuminated as if by a soft, white light, making her stand out against the dark of the space.

Her heart begins to beat a bit faster (and isn’t that odd; she has a heart again apparently) as she tries to find… anything in the expanse that encompasses the entirety of the horizon. But… to no avail.

There is… nothing. Simply nothing.

Idly, she tries to call out, and finds her voice is unresponsive. More accurately, it’s as if the signal for her mouth to open, and for a voice to be projected outwards, simply never reaches her brain.

She tries once more, and again. She tries calling out to Sothis in some vain attempt to reach out to her, hoping beyond hope that she’s somehow retained the girl within her… but the silence proves what she’s feared this entire time.

The goddess is gone.

She finds herself wanting to cry, or scream, or some other equally childish thing she’d probably sworn she’d never do again long, long ago, but she cannot do that either. Her face is almost locked in a perpetual neutral state, as agonizing as it is.

She falls to her knees, just as nonplussed as before, and though her brain tries to scream, or weep, or do _anything_ , her body is unresponsive. This goes on for… she cannot fathom how long. It could be minutes, but it truly feels as if she’s been there for all her lifetimes.

It is at some point in her sorrowful state that a voice reaches her ears.

“Well… you’ve certainly gone through hell and back, haven’t you?”

She turns at the sound of the voice, her entire body facing it, and both her neck and spine crack at the potential for contact, any form of it, that she hurts herself trying to reach it. Her eyes are blurry as she tries to get a good look at whoever’s in front of her, and she has to push herself off the ground to see the standing figure.

It is a woman, though, from the tenor of the voice she’d heard earlier, that’s not exactly a shock. She’s moderately tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Byleth, and she wears an ankle length white dress, an odd cross between a wedding gown and funeral attire. Her hair is a deep, cool green, almost the color of an evergreen tree.

Almost the color of Byleth’s own hair.

Or, she supposes, as she looks up at her natural, blue hair that she’d grown up with, a mixture of her current hair, and the hair she’d had when she joined with Sothis.

The woman reaches down and runs her fingers through Byleth’s locks. She feels that sort of contact would generally be something she’d stop… but she can’t bring herself to bother. There’s something about the contact that feels… natural. Right.

“You’ve given up, haven’t you?”

She peers up at her face, and, for the first time, truly drinks in her appearance.

She is… stunningly familiar to look at. Byleth is unsure as to why that would be. Her face is a near carbon copy of her own, right down to the way her cheeks curl ever so slightly when she smiles, as rare an occurrence as such a thing is.

It takes perhaps too long for her to put the pieces together, and the woman before her stands there patiently through it all, smiling genially down at her, like a calm, gentle breeze on a hot summer’s day, a gentle reminder that things aren’t so bad.

“Mother?”

The word spills out of her in such a way as she remembers how to speak that she feels she almost sobs the word out. Every emotion that’s been held within her in the time she’s spent here empties from behind the dam that’s kept it inside.

Her cries sound more like screams as she collapses to the floor, and before she knows it, she is being swept up in the emerald-haired woman’s embrace.

“It’s okay.” The woman reassures her, running her left hand up and down the back of her head. “You’re okay.”

She is not sure for how long she breaks, and really, she is not sure she cares. By the time she is calm enough to reason again, she’s laying down on the ‘floor’, her head in the woman’s lap.

“How are you feeling?”

Byleth shakes her head, finding that her throat is too hoarse to speak yet. She hopes that’s enough.

“Well… I suppose you must be curious?”

She nods again.

“Then… to answer your question, yes, I am your mother.” She hears in the woman’s voice the way she smiles brightly. “My name is Sitri. It’s wonderful to finally get to meet you.”

That fact… it is not a horrible surprise. She knows everything other than her mother’s name and appearance. She knows her history, her life, her love for Jeralt and her eventual passing, a life given for Byleth’s own.

But… she has never seen her. Not once in all of her long, long years.

“Why… now?” She asks, as it is the question burning her alive inside.

“Hmm…” The woman places a finger on her chin, and Byleth realizes she’s caught herself doing the same when she’s pondering something before. “I suppose because… There was simply something I had to do. This is the closest you’ve ever been to your goal, and yet, at the same time, this is the most at risk you’ve ever been, is it not?”

A pang of fear and dread and sadness echoes across her heart, and she finds her expression dropping.

“You’ve fought hundreds of thousands in your day, and your mother has sat here, agonizing over every blow, every parry, every successful victory. And… she’s seen your defeats as well. She’s seen you at your very lowest, in your darkest hours… even still, you’ve never faltered in the face of those times. You’ve tried, over and over and over and over and over again. And now… it’s paid off.”

She shakes her head. “But… Sothis is…”

“Gone. Taken from you.”

She nearly cracks at those words. It is only her mother’s hand coming to rest underneath her chin, and gently forcing her to make eye-contact that breaks her out of that state.

“But that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

The words ring hollow in her chest, even if she’s still facing her mother.

“I can’t… I’m… I’m not strong enough on my own…”

“If it were anyone else… I might doubt them, you know?” Her mother shoots her a coy smile. “But no. Not you. You are Byleth Eisner, the strongest warrior that Fódlan has ever seen. You are the Ashen demon, feared amongst those who would slither beneath the depths of this planet. You are the Professor to King’s and Empresses, to Dukes and Marquises, and to warriors and mages. And…”

Her smile only grows.

“You are also my child.” Her mother reaches down and boops her quickly on the tip of her nose. “And besides, even without your goddess…” The woman gives her hand comforting a comforting squeeze. “When have you ever been alone?”

Images flare up around her, and her eyes go helplessly wide. She sees the Blue Lions as she’d known them in her first life, back when _he’d_ led them through the war clumsily, barely able to keep half of them alive. She sees her first lifetimes with the Black Eagles, as horrid as they’d been, and her first time shacking up with the Golden Deer, as wild a ride as that’d been.

She sees more, the students she’d grown close to, perhaps even come close to loving at a time before she’d grown past them, thought herself as too far beyond them in age and experience. She sees others, too. Manuela and Hanneman, always willing to lend a hand to her. She sees Cyril and Shamir, constantly working to improve. She sees Edelgard and Rhea, at each other’s throats, yet, simultaneously, the most driven people she’d ever met. She sees Dimitri, a man fluctuating between hatred and love.

She sees Kronya, the woman who, in Byleth’s final moments, had given up everything just to give her a chance. She’d certainly be killed for what she’d done if she hadn’t been already. And yet, even so…

She sees hundreds, perhaps thousands of versions of each, all the different people she’s met.

And she sees Sothis.

The single constant, the one who’s been there for every single pulse, every single reset. She’s laughed and cried and screamed and raged with her. She’s seen every corner of the world with her and climbed to the highest peaks with her. She’s crawled into bed with her and slept the night away as the moon rose in the night sky. She is…

Everything.

The images leave her horribly rattled, and she finds herself shaking her head, unable to accept the woman’s words.

“But… without her… I…”

Her mother’s eyebrows twinge down, and she can see the moment of realization hit her.

“You really love her… more than anything, don’t you?”

She doesn’t need to nod.

“I see. In that case… there’s really only one thing you can do, isn’t there?”

She weakly meets the woman’s eyes, before her own widen as her mother takes her hands and holds them up to her collar bone.

“Reclaim her. Get back the one you love, and don’t you _dare_ give up.” Sitri stresses. “Not when that means giving up on _her too._ ”

The truth of those words, no matter how blunt, strikes her across the face as if delivered by a club. She finds herself wanting to do nothing more than lie down on the soft black floor beneath her and melt away.

But…

She cannot. She won’t allow herself to be consumed; to _die_. No. She is Byleth Eisner, the Ashen demon, child of Jeralt, the blade breaker, one of the strongest warriors on the continent…

And child of Sitri, a young woman thrust into responsibility, who’d wanted nothing but the best for her child, even at the cost of her own life.

She refuses to shame those names any further.

“I…” Her voice warbles, a sign of her hesitation, however brief, and she finds herself flaring, horribly angered by the very thought. “I will.”

The heat in her mother’s hands seems to amplify itself in the next moments.

“Good…” Sitri pulls her in close again, hugging her against her body. Her mother’s is an infectiously warm embrace, one she has no want of leaving anytime soon.

But she must. If she means to save Sothis… if she means to save… _everyone_ … Then she has no choice.

“Oh, and, when you find her?” Her mother’s voice has taken on an almost teasing tone now. “How about giving her my ring?”

Her eyes widen as the thought pops into her head.

She’d forgotten about the ring if she’s being honest. It’d been an awfully long time since it’d been a relevant part of her lifetimes.

“I… I think I will.” She finds the smile on her face comes naturally before an awkward laugh bursts through her veneer. “I’m sorry, I was acting so pathetically and-”

“Don’t worry so much about that.” Her mother waves away her concern. “That’s what I’m here for. You can afford to be a little weak around your mom, heck, I doubt even Jeralt would complain about you taking up his shoulder as often as you needed. Honestly, you’ve been strong for far too long, everyone needs a good cry once in a while.”

She laughs rather easily at her mother’s joke, finding the sound slipping out of her before she even knows what’s happened.

“There’s a part of me… that just wants to stay here talking with you forever…” Byleth admits, the feeling one she’s not quite accustomed to. “But…”

“You have to go back to them.” Her mother smiles, slowly letting go of her hands. “I know.”

She finds her own hands heavy as she pulls them away from her mothers and forces herself to stand. It’s like gravity is weighing her down, like she can barely find the strength in her limbs to not tumble over.

Even still, she persists.

“How do I… actually leave?” She asks.

“You will simply find your way back when you are ready.” Her mother explains. “There is no other way to put it.”

She accepts that easily enough, given it’s only around the third weirdest thing that’s happened to her today. As she begins to turn and walk away, however, she glances back one last time, looking at her mother sitting serenely in the middle of the empty space.

“Uhm… mom?”

“Yes?”

She scratches the side of her head. “Are you really… here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean… are you really the spirit of my dead mother… because, honestly, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me… today, even… or are you a figment of my dying minds imagination?”

Her mother places a finger on her chin, before looking back over at her and beaming once more.

“Which would you like me to be?”

“I…” Byleth looks down at the ground, almost ashamed to admit it. “I’d like you to be real, I suppose.”

She cannot see her mother, but she can hear the small laugh that pours from her cheeks a second later.

“Then I am as real as can be.”

That’s…

_“Good.”_

“When I leave… will you…?”

“I’ve been waiting an awfully long time, so yes, I’m afraid I’ll be traveling on from here.” Her mother gives a sad smile. “I’ve been curious as to what the world beyond this one holds for quite a while but seeing your journey through to the end was far more important.”

“It’s not over yet, though!” She’s not sure why, but she finds herself almost desperately begging. “You… you can’t leave yet.”

“I’m afraid that I must.” Her mother’s voice carries a sorrow within it that Byleth catches only the surface of. It is one buried in history and pain and strife. But it is one that has meaning, too. “There is something far more important that I must do than me witnessing the end of your journey. Please, believe me… if there were any other option, I would stay by your side until the very end. Even still… I’ll always be with you, okay?”

She is not sure why she’s crying again, but she is.

“Why am I so emotional…” She asks aloud. “I’ve… I’ve never even met you, but…”

“Because you’re sad.” Her mother giggles. “It’s not something worth overthinking. You’ve lost the one you love to an evil mastermind; I’d say your heart has been searching for a good excuse to cry about that for a while now.” She places a hand over her own heart. “And I’m your mother. My shoulder’s always an option.”

She hiccups slightly, even as she forces herself to keep walking, away from her mother, and away from the only comfort in the infinite dark.

“Goodbye, mom.” She chokes out.

“Goodbye, Byleth. I love you.” The woman gives a small smirk. “Give your father my regards as well.”

She smiles.

“I will, and…” She takes a deep, hiccupping breath. “I love you too.”

She’s glad that statement is true. She hasn’t known her mother for very much time, but…

But that feeling is real.

It is not long before her vision begins to fade, and somehow stir, and her hearing dissipates, yet somehow returns. She realizes there’s a door just in front of her, and she’s not sure how she missed that before, since it’s glowing a brilliant golden color, and it’s been there the entire time, and–

\-----

She gasps as she wakes up, accidentally knocks at least an entire tray’s worth of medical equipment off of the table beside her, and then nearly collapses from the horrid amount of pain that echoes from out of her chest, all in the span of about a second.

She hears shouting from… somewhere and tries to get her eyes to unblur as she stares at the movement out of the corner of her eye. Said movement drops something it’s carrying, the piece of metal, she can only assume by the sound, clattering to the floor uselessly.

“Who…” Her voice is _terribly_ hoarse, and she realizes her throat aches only as she speaks. She coughs as she tries to draw air into her lungs past the scorching pain of her dried esophagus.

She’s a bit worried about the fact that nothing happens.

“You’re alive!”

“Wha-?”

Her voice is cut off by the figure slamming into her, and Byleth feels she can be forgiven for letting out a tiny squeal of pain. Luckily, whoever this is releases her soon enough, and her vision is starting to come back, because she can just make out the figure of the girl above her.

It is, perhaps ironically, Mercedes. The same woman who’d greeted her when she’d first awoken nearly five months ago.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Professor, I…” Mercedes shakes her head. “I lost my composure for a moment. I must remember that I’m a doctor first, and…” Her voice trails off. “Professor?”

She wonders why her vision is growing black again, or why Mercedes’ face is rapidly paling.

“Oh, Goddess…” The woman murmurs with a hand over her face, before turning on a dime and shouting outside the tent. “I NEED ANY AVAILABLE MEDICAL PERSONNEL TO ATTEND TO THE MEDICAL WING NOW!”

She again wonders what all of the fuss is about, until, that is, the pain begins to set in.

Her lungs are on fire.

No, not just her lungs. Her… _everything_ is on fire.

Luckily for her, people _do_ come. More than fifteen flood into her room within the next ten seconds, and one of the other doctors has to actively shoo the unnecessary ones out of the wing. She recognizes a few, Manuela, and Marianne, for starters, and of course Mercedes herself, but she can’t quite focus on them, or why they’re here, or wherever ‘here’ is, because her entire life is, once more, headed quickly for oblivion.

“Someone hold her down, we’ll need to…” Mercedes shakes her head. “I’m sorry about this Professor, I only wish I had time to numb the pain.”

She is unsure what the woman means as several people take her arms and legs and push down, forcing her further into the cruddy padded bedding beneath her. In the next moment, she discovers just why Mercedes had wanted her held down in the first place.

She’s actively cutting her open.

It’s a pain a lot like having her innards sliced out with a sword, which is, oddly, a pain she’s awfully familiar with. That doesn’t really make the experience very fun, but luckily, it’s horribly muted compared to the overwhelming cries of just about every organ in her chest.

She tries not to think about what the squelching noise that comes from her general stomach area is, and instead begins to count the patterns on the roof above her, something she’s been told helps keep the mind steady when it would otherwise want to wander.

But, well… maybe it’s the general happenings around her, but she can’t actually see all that well to begin with. The roof spins, as does just about everything else. Her hearing’s disappearing as well, and idly, she realizes she’s actually dying again.

She’s getting awfully tired of dying, really.

“Try compressions, we could-”

“It’s not just the heart!”

“The heart needs to take priority, if we don’t fix that, then-”

“Then her kidney’s or liver will kill her! There’re no good options, damnit!”

“Nothing is working, I don’t know how to fix this!”

The voices that ring out around her aren’t exactly reassuring, and as she begins to black out, she thinks that this has been a pretty shitty minute-long run, especially after Sitri had gone and given her that pep-talk.

At the thought of her mother, however, a warm light seems to suffuse her entire body.

_“Mom…?”_

She receives no response.

And then everything starts again.

She gasps as air fills her lungs, and as her heart begins to beat. She can quite literally feel as life returns to her body, and the overwhelming pain of what’s happened over the course of the last… _time_ hits her all at once.

She is a strong woman, she thinks, which is just about the only thing that lets her scream stay at ‘ear-shattering’ instead of quickly hitting ‘too high for human comprehension’ levels.

She is not sure the doctors in the room thank her much for that.

“What the fu– They started again!?”

“But we didn’t do anything!?”

“What, you complaining?”

“Seal her up, hurry!”

There’s more movement in her chest area, the feeling of some parts of her getting a breeze that really, **_really_** feel like they shouldn’t be getting a breeze, and then the calming feeling of healing magic being used on her.

Well, it would _normally_ be calming, as it is, she’s struggling to not puke.

When she’s finally released, the doctors around her all let out sighs of varying degrees of exhaustion.

And only then does she stop screaming.

As most of the medical personnel begin to pat each other on the backs, citing a job well done, and empty out of the room, she tries to sit up and examine just what has happened to her.

The pain that emerges from her core is more than enough for her to _immediately_ lay back down.

“I’d advise against anything that requires the usage of your abdominal region, Professor.” Mercedes voice sounds guilty. “We had to cut you open around there, so…”

“Yeah, I get it.” Her own voice still sounds almost foreign to herself, strained and weak. “Uhm… where are we, exactly?”

Mercedes tilts her head.

“You don’t recognize it?”

She does, she’s just not sure she can place it what with the thousands of other things running through her head right now.

“We’re back at Garreg Mach.” Manuela illuminates for her. “And you’ve been cramping up _my_ medical wing for the last two weeks.”

Several things run through her head at that, not the least of which is how long she’s been out.

“Relax.” Manuela tries to wave away her concerns. “You nearly died. A missed month isn’t going to be the thing to do you in.”

“I was out for… a month?”

“And three weeks.” Mercedes speaks, sitting down at the foot her bed. “Professor… do you have any idea what happened back at Embarr?”

She wonders why the girl is asking, wonders if they simply haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong with her, and sort of wonders a lot of things, if she’s being honest, but she decides to answer the girl’s question.

“I had my heart destroyed by Thales’ weapon.” She places a hand over where the organ rests beneath. “And… the goddess was ripped out of my breast.”

“So… you really did house her.”

She nods, content to admit that at least.

“That… may have something to do with your condition, then.”

“My condition?” She asks.

“Well, yes.” Mercedes begins. “When you… _died_ back at Embarr, Dimitri brought you back to the carriages. We just barely managed to escape Those Who Slither before they could envelop the city, but… you were gone. The army was devastated, I mean, before we thought you were dead, but… now here was irrefutable proof. Or, well, so we thought.”

“As it turned out, however, you didn’t decompose.” Manuela explained. “Your body persisted, not rotting, not smelling… nothing. It was as if you’d fallen into a deep slumber. Seeing this when she woke up, Rhea made sure you were not to be disposed of, and instead had us heal your heart itself with magic. Seeing as how we weren’t on a time limit given your, ehm… death, we could afford to take our time with that.”

She’s a bit perplexed by why Rhea would do such a thing, until she puts the pieces together in her head.

Rhea thinks she possesses some of the abilities of a Nabatean.

The old race of dragons doesn’t decompose when they die. It’s why, even millennia later, their hearts, the crest stones, and their bones, the Heroes’ relics, still function as effective weapons. To think she is the same…

She’d never really stuck around after her death for longer than a minute or two, so she actually hadn’t known that about herself.

_“Am I… do I carry the powers of a Nabatean?”_

She somehow doubts she can turn into a dragon, even if that’d be rather helpful.

Still, she could afford to hold off such questions for later. For now, she needs to know just how she’d survived.

She asks as much, and Mercedes and Manuela glance at one another, exchanging worried looks.

“Actually… we’d been hoping you could answer that one for us, Professor.” Mercedes speaks with concern. “As far as we were concerned, there was the tiniest bit of hope thanks to what Rhea had said about healing you… but many of us had still given up. We didn’t expect you to suddenly rouse from your slumber.”

If Byleth’s being honest… she has no idea how she’s alive. She tells them as much, and they each respond to that in similar ways.

Namely, they look both grateful, and horrendously confused.

“Well… I suppose that can wait for later. For right now, I’d like to do some measurements if that’s okay.”

Well, she isn’t going anywhere, so she figures she might as well allow it.

A good twenty minutes later, and a few tests richer, Mercedes actually looks more perplexed than she’d been a few minutes prior.

“I don’t know how best to say this, Professor…” Mercedes speaks warily. “But… well, actually, I’ll start at the beginning.”

She’d really rather the girl have started with whatever bad news she had, but Byleth feels she can probably handle whatever it is, to be honest, so she lets the girl delay.

“So, for starters, when you awoke before, you couldn’t breathe, correct?”

Byleth gives a light hum of acknowledgement, trying to keep herself from overexerting her already fragile form.

“Well, your lungs weren’t functioning, obviously, but it was more than that. Your entire organ system had failed.”

She raises a brow.

“What… does that mean?” Her voice is still so terribly scratchy.

“Well… it’s not like your organs… _shouldn’t_ have been working. They had every reason _to_ work. You were awake, after all, and your brain should’ve been sending the signals that would tell those organs to begin functioning… but it just wasn’t.”

“From what we understand,” Manuela breaks in. “It was as if for your entire life leading up to that moment, something other than your brain had been controlling your heart, your lungs, your kidneys and every other organ in your body.”

Her eyes widen, even as even more puzzle pieces seem to slip and slide around on a massive board.

Sothis… her presence had always been more than just a nicety. When she’d been born, she’d been stillborn, dead on arrival. Only through transferring Sothis’ crest into Byleth’s body had Rhea and her mother been able to revive her, and even then…

She’d had no heartbeat.

Then… did that mean her entire life, from when she’d been born, to now… her heart, her lungs, her body… had all been working only because Sothis resided within her? Or… is it that they’d never actually worked at all, and she’d only ever managed to move, to talk, to walk around, thanks to Sothis’ power?

Had she always been… dead?

“Why… was my muscular structure unaffected?” She asks, trying for any information.

“We’re not quite sure, honestly.” Mercedes smile acts as more of an apology than anything. “In theory, because they required you to be conscious of them to work, as opposed to your main organs working off of subconscious signals. I know that must be rather unsatisfying, but most of what Manuela and I have just said is conjecture. Now… to the next part…”

Byleth mentally prepares herself.

“Well… as you may have gathered, you suddenly regained control of your faculties. That wasn’t exactly easy to understand at first, but, well… a quick check of you heart revealed something odd within it.”

“It used to be a crest stone inside. The goddesses Crest of Flames.” Manuela continues. “Now however… there’s something else in there.”

She looks down at her own heart, unsure of what they’re getting at.

“Whereas before it was the Goddess powering you, a veritable bonfire of energy, it’s now… well, we don’t know, but I’d say it’s more like a sputtering torch, one caught in the rain that should’ve been easily blown out. It’ll sustain you, but…”

She looks to Mercedes, wondering why the girl looks so down.

“You have… at most two weeks to live.”

Well, nothing like an ultimatum to get the blood pumping. She finds her heart aches with pain as her pulse rises, and every part of her body is sore as she tries to adjust herself, to stand, to move, to do _anything_ in the remaining time that she had.

“Professor, please!” Mercedes pushes her back down. “I know it’s hard to accept… but that doesn’t mean it’s all over.”

She does as commanded, physically forcing her muscles to relax. She cannot overwork her already frayed body, and damnit, she knows that, but knowing she has only two weeks to live, and has to spend at least a few days of that in a hospital bed, is certainly not the stress she needs right now!

“Even still, this secondary life force is the weirdest thing.” Manuela comments, looking down at a few sheets of paper in front of her. “From what we could gather by comparing your current readings to Hanneman’s crest research on you nearly six years ago, it’s actually always been in there. It’s just been… I don’t know if waiting is the right term for something that doesn’t exactly have sentience, but it’s the only term I can think of for it.”

“It’s like a tiny candle.” Mercedes further illustrates. “One that pulled you back from the brink of death all on its own. I’d honestly say it was as if you managed to bring yourself back to life with sheer willpower.”

The answer slams into her like a ton of bricks, and it’s all she can do to hold back on the tears that threaten to surface at the realization of what’s happened.

_“It’s not over yet, though! You… you can’t leave yet.”_

_“I’m afraid that I must. There is something far more important that I must do than me witnessing the end of your journey._ _Please, believe me… if there were any other option, I would stay by your side until the very end. Even still… I’ll always be with you, okay?”_

“No… I…” She reaches down and clutches at her heart, feels within her the faint embers of life that stir her on, and finds that she can no longer hold back the torrent of emotions that rage behind her eyes. “I had nothing to do with it.”

The weight of what she must do… that she must somehow defeat the Agarthans, save Sothis, and make use of her mother’s last gift… all in only two weeks? …It is simply too much to bear.

Mercedes and Manuela don’t seem to understand exactly why it is she cries… but they hug her regardless.

She feels so horribly weak, crying. She hasn’t cried in what feels like generations, perhaps a millennia. For her to do so multiple times in a single day…?

It’s…

The moment is interrupted by a messenger entering into the room. Upon seeing Byleth up, his eyes widen significantly, but other than that brief moment of pause, he clears his throat, and addresses both Manuela and Mercedes.

“Excuse me, commander Martritz, and Professor Manuela, you’re both requested to attend the hall meeting.”

The two look worriedly between one another, before looking down at Byleth herself.

“Hall… meeting?” She asks. “What’s that?”

“Well…” Mercedes sighs. “Things have been… interesting with both Edelgard and Rhea in the same place. Not to mention Claude and the Golden Deer have joined us as well, along with the Black Eagles, and of course Dimitri is present too. Negotiations for war reparations, planned future excursions, treaties, peace agreements, and all sorts of things are trying to be decided… but mostly, it’s just been Edelgard and Rhea exchanging barbs. Very little progress has actually been made, and… the way things are trending, we may see a miniature war break out soon.”

“A what!?” She finds her eyes wide.

“It wouldn’t be a particularly long one.” Manuela runs a hand down her face, clearly stressed. “The Black Eagles and the Empire forces are drastically dwarfed by both the Church and Kingdom’s… the problem is Dimitri, who’s taking Edelgard’s side in just about everything.” She groans. “I know the boy’s in love, but goddess, he could do to actually read up on some of the things she’s saying. I mean, I _taught_ the Black Eagles, but not all of them are good ideas! Hell, most of them aren’t.”

She shakes her head, still trying to wrap her head around things.

“So… where is this happening?” She asks.

“The cathedral hall.” Mercedes answers. “It was the only place big enough to house all fifty something of us, including guards and other personnel. Tonight, will be… well, they agreed it would be the final meeting, but as things are… this can only end badly.”

Her heart jumps into her throat, and Byleth finds herself shaking her head.

No, she refuses to let it end like this. Not even on the battlefield, but on the homestretch leading up to it.

She won’t accept it.

“Can you take me along as well?” Byleth asks, trying once more to sit up, and this time, barely managing it past the mind-numbing pain. “I know I can’t really move, but…”

“Professor…” Mercedes looks worried, terribly so. “You…”

“I can’t sit here knowing that the war we fought to end, the people we fought to protect, are going at each other’s throats over… over pointless things.” She knows they are not pointless, but she can’t find it in herself to care at that moment. “Right now, we need to focus on strengthening our bonds, not tearing them apart. _Please._ ” She urges. “Let me talk with them. I… I can’t let it end like this.”

Mercedes looks to try and resist further, but she lets out an aching, horrendous groan a moment later, one that sounds foreign past her lips.

“Ugh… you’re the same as always.” Manuela sighs. “Fine, fine…”

“I’ll break out the wheelchair.”

\-----

Byleth regrets that she has no real strength in her arms, because being pushed along through the Monastery by Mercedes is not how she’d wanted to make an entrance.

It doesn’t help that she has to be picked up out of the wheelchair, walked up the flight of stairs to the Cathedral, and then placed back in it before they can enter.

She is blushing horrendously as the guards, people who’ve known her for the better part of six years, and who she’s known for thousands, laugh at her pain, even as she curses them out from her stationary place in the chair. They pantomime fear, laughing amongst each other as she passes by.

It’s all in good fun, they give her their best wishes and happiness at her waking up, but honestly, she just wishes she could laugh along with them, instead of panicking about just what’s going to happen tonight.

Or, she supposes, since the sun’s setting in the distance as they push the doors to the Cathedral open, what’s happening _right now._

Voices hit her almost immediately upon entering and given the table they’ve set up for themselves, which she’s nearly certain is the war-room’s, is a good twenty meters from her, that’s probably not a good sign.

It means they’re yelling already.

“And just what do you mean to say, Edelgard, that you have not already said before!?” Rhea’s voice echoes out.

“Do you not understand me? Perhaps you have a hearing problem, Archbishop!”

Mercedes lets out a low groan from just behind her as she pushes her through the large chamber, and into eyesight of some of the guards of the meeting, evidently there more as enforcers than anything else. Their eyes widen as they see her, and they nod as they see Mercedes, letting the woman, and herself by proxy, through to the hall.

She will admit, even with all that’s happening, that she gets more than a little amusement out of the way Sylvain’s, Ingrid’s, and Casper’s eyes widen as they see her.

“OH, C’MON!” Sylvain screeches, completely interrupting Rhea’s and Edelgard’s argument and pointing her way for everyone else to see. “AGAIN!?”

The two look briefly offended, before both see just what it is he’s pointing at and go from angered to ecstatic in but a moment.

A chorus of “PROFESSOR!”’s is about the only thing she can make out for the next five minutes, as people walk up to her and ask how she’s been doing, what she’s doing in a wheelchair, how she’s alive when her heart got quite literally ripped from her chest, y’know, the usual questions.

She answers with “Pretty bad, everything kind of hurts”, “Like I said, my entire body hurts”, and “No comment”, respectively.

She feels those answers are fair.

After a while of that, and a heaping helping of her telling everyone that no, they couldn’t drive her wheelchair around, she’d be leaving that to the medical professional, they went back to their meeting. She is happy that very few people see the tears streaming down her face at that, except for Dimitri, who shoots her a soft smile that she returns with a glare.

 _‘Tell anyone about that, and you die’_ She tries to communicate.

Putting aside her idle threat, Dimitri, along with just about everyone else in the room, goes back to how they’d been acting prior to her arrival, though things begin in higher spirits. Everyone’s just received good news, after all, and thusly have become far more willing to compromise.

At some point, Mercedes walks to stand beside Emile, her younger brother, who’s been presiding over the talks as one of Edelgard’s chosen guards (The other two being Petra and Hubert, who are both nervously sweating), and Byleth can’t help thinking that’s a pretty good choice for the girl, since Jeritza is one of the only people in the room, besides the lords and Rhea themselves, who could really challenge her in a fight.

It’s at that moment she truly keys into the dynamic of the hall, however. Edelgard and Rhea are really the ones dictating conversation, while everyone else seems content to speak up when either something relevant to them is mentioned, or something they care about is mentioned. For Dimitri, this seems to come into play whenever the Empire’s warmongering comes into focus, and he is often quick to shift the blame for that, as is Edelgard herself, onto the Agarthans.

Claude, to his credit, seems unwilling to let that point go, and often jumps in to defend Rhea’s points when they’re on that subject. Byleth realizes that, because of this, the room has been split almost directly down the center.

Rhea and the Church, with the Golden Deer alongside them, and Edelgard, with Dimitri helping out every step of the way.

She sees now what Manuela had been complaining about. Dimitri, in his quest to be beside Edelgard, had sort of forsaken his position as one of the major lords, someone who should be coming in and mediating a conversation like this. Plus, as the optimist, he’d likely be the one _forcing_ concessions on the other’s, leading to an overall healthier conversation.

Instead, he is likely only acting as a tempering effect on Edelgard’s psyche, keeping her mildly calmer than she’d normally be. Claude, on the other hand, is the calm and rational strategist to Rhea’s hotblooded rhetoric, and much like Dimitri, he is tempering her.

What should be a reasonable discussion between the four has shifted into a shouting match between just two, with the other two officiating. Still, she has to wonder just why Claude has taken Rhea’s side here.

She doesn’t ask, however. Not yet anyways. She’ll wait for a break in the proceedings.

“As it stands, the Empire has lost no territory, no land, and no settlements to this war if the ones they’re fighting are planning to simply let them keep the villages and towns they initially conquered.” Rhea speaks, eyeing both the King and Empress. “They encroached onto not just Church lands, but onto both Alliance and Kingdom strongholds, and took many. Those places would assuredly need to be surrendered to their original owners, along with all relocated people’s and instruments, including their crops and livestock.”

Byleth only very vaguely understands… a good majority of this. It’s not exactly a talk for the everyman, and though she’s seen talks _like_ this one… well, she’s not usually involved in them.

“We have already said we will return our conquered territories, but you would have us refund livestock used for the war effort, as well?” Edelgard scoffs. “Sheep I could manage, but meat is an essential dietary consumption of soldiers, providing valuable proteins that allow them to do their jobs. To give away as many as were taken _now_ is not even possible, let alone feasible. Were we to do so, the Empire’s people would surely starve!”

Byleth can see the way Dimitri longs to cut in here, to say something to Edelgard’s defense likely, but he must know he can do no such thing. His _own_ territories are of the ones Rhea refers to, and even if Edelgard has already said she will pull her soldiers out, allowing the Kingdom to take back over without incident…

He must know that in this matter, at least, things are far too complicated for something like ‘love’ can solve.

“Surely your people do not subsist entirely on meats, do they, Edelgard?” Claude cracks a joke. No one laughs. “Why not institute a plan that pours a steady trickle of those animals back into affected territories. It’s not as if this couldn’t be done over the next… three years, could it not?”

“Three years is far too short of a time frame-”

“Then what, Edelgard!” Rhea bites back at her. “You would have **_our_** people starve, so that yours might become fat? You have lost this war of yours. That we are sitting here, listening to you speak at all, is more than you deserve!”

The girl bites back on a remark that looked to have been about to emerge from her mouth.

“I would ask we delay this subject-”

“UNTIL WHEN!?” Rhea screeches at her, and the entire room jumps. “You have done nothing but delay, and delay for over a month now! You have up until this point only made _extraordinarily_ minor concessions to the Church, even in matters where we could, and _should_ take more from you. Out of our generosity, and out of respect for King Dimitri, I have allowed you to take the time you need to come up with answers to the questions we ask. Even you agreed this was to be the final session, and yet you still provide the exact same excuses you have this entire time!”

Byleth feels her heart constrict at the words being tossed around. It’s obvious even on the surface that Rhea and Edelgard simply refuse to come to an agreement here, and, from the faces of everyone around her, beleaguered and tired, she thinks that’s probably a fairly common sight. She estimates the amount of treaties and agreements they’ve signed thus far could probably be counted on one hand.

“I agree with Rhea.” Claude crosses his arms over his chest. “Tonight, we agreed we would be deciding all of this.”

“I had no intention of delaying until a further meeting.” Edelgard seethes, though she disguises the act as a deep breath. “What I’d meant to say, before I was interrupted, was that I would delay until the end of the meeting, when I’ve come to a sufficient answer for you.” She sighs out, glaring at Claude. “And when did you become the ‘ever-so-generous’ Archbishop’s spokesperson?”

Someone had asked Byleth’s question for her, which is just about the only positive of the evening so far. She finds her breaths are heavy as she tries to inhale and exhale, and her heart is erratically… beating?

No, her heart is gone. The thing sustaining her is the small, dying flame in her chest, and it’s fluctuating right now, nervously shifting, as if unsure of what direction it wants to take.

Much like the rest of her, she can’t help thinking.

“It’s not that hard to understand is it?” Claude shrugs. “I simply believe that Rhea has the right of it here.”

“But you’ve ‘simply believed’ that for about four meetings worth of ideas now,” Edelgard protests, her eyes narrow. “There’s no way you sat through her discussion of church and state being brought together in both the Empire and the Alliance and thought nothing of it?”

Claude lets out the tiniest of breaths, the smallest admission that perhaps he _had_ possessed some grievances to whatever plan Edelgard’s talking about. Byleth wouldn’t really know herself, given she’d been passed out at the time, but it sounded like, instead of backpedaling, Rhea had been on the attack.

“It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be at all.” Edelgard continues. “If anything, I’d say you have a much more important reason for trying to ally yourself with Rhea here, one that’s not easy for you to accept, but one you’ve forced yourself to nonetheless.”

It’s Dimitri who speaks next, and Byleth’s eyes shift to him as he does.

“You’re scared.” The man utters with wide eyes, and she realizes they might be his first real words of the meeting. “You’re afraid of the Empire and the Kingdom coming together under one banner… and threatening the power balance of the continent.”

Claude gives away nothing, but it’s an intelligent enough read that Dimitri seems content to continue down that line of thought without any more evidence.

“Claude, you must know we have no intention of doing anything-”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” Claude interrupts. “Certainly not you. But it’s not you I’m worried about.”

Both Edelgard’s and Dimitri’s faces scrunch up.

“Answer me this, you two; How long before you guys have popped out an heir or heiress, ey?” Claude’s question is a bit of a sudden one, as both of his fellow lords go red in the face. “I’d give it ten years, maximum. Another twenty or so before one of you abdicates for them, and they take the unified throne.” Claude stares at both of them, any playful tone or fake bravado gone. “So… my question is this; how can the two of you possibly know what _they’ll_ be willing to do?”

Neither Edelgard nor Dimitri speak, and even Rhea, as headstrong as the woman normally is, does not interrupt.

“I am not worried about the present state of the Alliance, but its future. That is the duty of a leader, and it is one I’m not willing to compromise on.” He shakes his head. “Not when it won’t be _me_ paying the price, but my sons and daughters, and those of my friends and family.”

Dimitri tries to mount a retort. “Any child of ours would not go to such lengths-”

“And what of their children?” Claude fires out. “Their children’s children? You can sit here forever and say that they’ll ‘respect the olden ways’ or that ‘they’ll be raised right’ until the sun has long since risen in the sky tomorrow morning, and I will counteract with the very same sentence; _you don’t know._ ”

Dimitri goes silent. Claude is right, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

“If I must take an ally, even one who I don’t entirely agree with, to secure the future of the Alliance… then so be it.” Claude shakes his head. “Especially given I won’t be around to watch over it forever.”

It is Edelgard whose face warps at that comment.

“Then… the rumors that you intended to return to Almyra…”

Claude raises an eyebrow. “I hadn’t realized there were rumors. I suppose I underestimated your spies. But yes, I had intended to after the war, or perhaps my contributions to it, had ended, but as you can see, here I remain.”

“Then why do you care?” Edelgard speaks, and Byleth can already tell she’s made a mistake with those words. “If you intend to leave-”

“That is _precisely_ why I care.” Claude buts in, an abnormal scowl on his face as he stares the Empress down. “I will not abandon the family I’ve made here, in Fódlan, because I intend to travel home. I will not allow you to run over them the moment I am gone, and I will _not_ allow you to claim you would never do such a thing, when not six damned years ago, you _did_ just that!”

Edelgard flinches.

“You _started_ this war! You instigated it!” Claude is yelling, a horribly rare show of raw emotion from the man that has the entire room silent. “And six years ago, I could’ve _stopped it!_ ”

Byleth’s face pales as Claude turns to her, his eyes narrow. Edelgard and Dimitri both look to her confusedly, as does Rhea.

“Could’ve… stopped it?” Edelgard’s eyebrows are drawn down. “What do you mean?”

Claude takes a deep, slow breath as he regathers himself, and he sighs as he turns away from her, back towards the rest of the meeting.

“No. I have no reason to explain myself any further.” He shakes his head. “You have heard my reasoning. I will side with Rhea in this.”

“Even if she turns your people into slaves of the Church?” Edelgard questions, a small tongue of fury in her voice. “Even if she comes for ‘religious dissenters’ in the middle of the night, executes them for their ‘crimes’?”

Rhea slams her hands on the table. “Edelgard, you-!”

“Is that not better than being dead?” Claude questions, cutting Rhea off with a single hand.

“Who says you’d be dead?” The woman in question fires back. “Even if a successor to my throne were to invade the Alliance, is living under the banner of the Empire such a terrible thing!?”

No one speaks, and the tension that’s rising here is enough to have Byleth want to reach for her sword. When she gestures at her waist, however, she remembers that she’s in a wheelchair, and her sword is probably somewhere in the Empire right now, scattered on the floor of the palace in multiple pieces…

Entirely inanimate.

She sees others in the meeting room doing similar things, however. Emile has gripped the sword at his waist, as has Hubert begun building the charge for a spell in his left hand. Ingrid and Sylvain are acting as well, each having a hold of their spears behind their backs. On the other side, Raphael is standing a bit straighter than normal, and Flayn and Seteth are behind Rhea, each tense, ready to do what’s necessary.

“The difference between the Church and the Empire?” Claude speaks, and the entire room seems to hang on every word. “I’d say the difference is that one of them wouldn’t stoop to allying with an organization trying to conquer the entire world, one based in greed and unjust folly, just to try and ‘reform’ it.”

Edelgard pushes herself up and out of her chair, and it’s only Dimitri’s hand on her arm that keeps her stationary. He shakes his head when she turns to him, and she sits back down, biting the inside of her mouth.

“As things stand… we are getting nowhere.” Dimitri speaks, sounding horribly disappointed. “We need to come to an agreement on something for starters. Why not try and find something we can unanimously agree upon?”

“And where would you find such an issue, King Blaiddyd?” Rhea’s voice is not mocking, but it is needlessly contrarian, especially how she’d referred to him by his last name, instead of as King Dimitri, as she had for the majority of the meeting. “We have gone over everything. All of tonight’s topics are one’s we’ve been over and delayed multiple times. We began with our easiest agreements, that of crop and livestock management, and even _then,_ the Empress could not _deign_ to lower herself enough to see sense.”

“Lower myself?” Edelgard snarls. “What have I done here but lower myself? That I would speak to you at all, despite what you’ve done to the people of this continent-”

“What I’ve done!? What of you? Starting a war-”

“Everyone please, let’s calm down and think about this!” Dimitri tries to interject, to no avail.

“Starting a war, involving the children of the Monastery in your games, kidnapping key church figures and having them killed for centuries-”

“And you think I had anything to do with that!?”

“I’ve yet to hear evidence to the contrary.”

Claude remains entirely still, even as, all across the room, several figures have begun to draw their weapons. Felix’s sword is unsheathed and held in a reverse grip in his right hand. Casper is doing the same over by the Empire’s side, looking directly at Lorenz, who’s drawn both a lance and a spell into each of his hands. Even Catherine has taken Thunderbrand off her back, poised to strike at any who would defy Rhea.

“So… an agreement cannot be reached, then…” Rhea shakes her head. “I don’t know why I even wasted my time with this.”

Byleth feels her throat constrict. It is becoming awfully hard to breathe, and she can’t help but want everyone in the room to sit back down, to sheathe their weapons…

“Likewise.” Edelgard stands, and though Dimitri tries to pull her back down, she shakes his grip off of her clothing easily enough. “We do not have to sit and listen to the lies of this church any longer.”

Byleth reaches a hand out uselessly, but she’s confined to her wheelchair. She looks down at the thing, lamenting her uselessness, and feels a pull in the depths of her heart. Or… well… she supposes she feels a pull in… whatever’s replaced it.

_“Mother… I…”_

“And I will not stand for the blatant disrespect you have shown not just this Church, but the Alliance, the Kingdom, and, yes, even your own Empire.” Rhea stands as well, and it’s clear the room will soon come to blows. “You have made a mockery of me for the last time.”

Every weapon in the room is poised to strike, and she finds her legs incredibly weak as she puts weight on them. They hold, however. It’s the barest of things, but she manages to slink forward ever so slightly. By the time Mercedes sees her, it is far too late to stop her from overexerting herself.

She feels a bit bad, but she has something more important to worry about.

Edelgard raises a hand. “Men-”

Rhea does the same. “Soldiers of the Church-”

And Byleth slams her hands on the table.

“ENOUGH!”

The entire room jumps, evidently not having expected an interruption to the coming bloodshed. They look towards her at varying speeds, even as Mercedes runs over towards her, and tries to urge her back into her wheelchair.

No, she refuses. She can still feel the residual impact of her hands hitting the table in her arms, in her shoulders, but despite that pain, she refuses to concede.

She won’t let it end like this.

“Enough…” She pants out. She can barely breathe, let alone speak, but she feels a fire in her breast quite unlike anything she’s felt before. Perhaps since her very first life. It’d been the last time she’d felt like she _had_ to do things right… when things had _had_ to work out.

It’s back to that now. There will be no going back if her class kill themselves here. They will die… and so will she… and that will be the end of it.

She refuses.

“You are all acting like such children…” She shakes her head. “I honestly thought you were better than that, but I see now that I was wrong. Claude,” She turns to the bearded man first. “For the man of rationality, you’ve certainly been letting your emotions and scant possibilities dictate your decisions a lot today. You started with offering concessions to Rhea’s more domineering ideas, but then, what, that just fell apart?”

The man says nothing, though from his expression, and the tiny smile on his face, she can tell he’s not displeased about this turn of events.

“Dimitri… You’ve been sitting there, completely devoid of your own argument, for the entire meeting. From what Manuela and Mercedes tell me, you’ve done that for every single meeting you’ve attended.” She asks him, silently with her eyes, if that’s true. The way he cannot meet her eyes is proof enough. “You are the King of Faerghus. You have a duty to the people of the Kingdom to represent _them_ as well, not just to represent Edelgard.”

He looks down and away from the table.

“Edelgard…” She sighs. “You’ve been unable to shelve your hatred for the church in these proceedings. You believe you aren’t allowed to negotiate with them at _all,_ or else you’re somehow spitting on your ideals. You think the church is some wholly evil organization… and even if you claim that’s not true, I think deep down, you truly believe that.”

The girl says nothing, apparently waiting for her to continue speaking, even as Rhea smirks victoriously at her.

“And you, Rhea.”

The woman’s smirk dies an ugly death.

“For a woman who’s lived twelve hundred years, you’re certainly acting an awful lot like a petulant child yourself.”

Seteth, Flayn, and Rhea all go wide-eyed, the latter of the three quite literally blanching at that. From the look on Edelgard’s face, one of firm confirmation, Byleth gathers that the girl had long since figured out her own level of knowledge.

“What?” Dimitri is perhaps the first to speak on that. “Professor, what are you talking about?”

Claude is watching with his eyes narrowed. Byleth is unable to quite read him, and he’s not giving anything away. It’s possible he’d have known, but it’s also possible he had no idea. She figures it doesn’t really matter.

“I speak of the war of the Agarthans and the Nabateans… or, well, perhaps you’d call it more of an attack than a war.” Byleth speaks, watching as Seteth and Flayn look at her dreadfully, as if betrayed, and Rhea seems to be plotting how best to kill her. “The result of the Progenitor God’s grace… and the folly of mankind. Though… perhaps you’d rather tell that story, Rhea. You were there, after all.”

All eyes turn to the woman, who still seethes silently as she stares at Byleth.

“How?” She asks simply. “How do you know?”

She wonders how best to explain it… she decides to start with a lie, see if that’ll work.

“The same way I figured out about the Agarthans. One of their members was leaving the organization, and-”

“A lie.” Rhea interrupts her. “That story has _always_ been a lie. I allowed it before when they told me because I had no need to fear whom I thought was an ally, especially given that you were dead. But I see now that I was mistaken. Who are you, Byleth Eisner? No… _what_ are you?”

She gives a tiny laugh.

_“The truth, then.”_

“I am an immortal.” She tells her secret, and watches as several others in the vicinity have their mouths fall open. “The same as you.”

Rhea almost laughs.

“That’s impossible! I witnessed the moment of your birth, I was there by your mother’s bedside as she begged me to save you over herself, I…” A flash of guilt crosses the woman’s face, but she banishes it a second later, biting her bottom lip. “I was the one who performed that procedure… Do not think me a fool, Ms. Eisner.”

She shakes her head, realizing that this… this is it.

She’s going to tell them all.

“I am not an immortal in the same way as the Nabateans,” She speaks. “Well, not quite the same way. I am no child of the Goddess. I am not immortal through my blood, but through my connection to Sothis. She is, after all, a Goddess who can control the flow of time itself.”

The others look at her like she’s insane, which she feels is fair, though, notably, Rhea is entirely serious, her eyes slightly wider than they’d been a moment prior.

“You mean to say… that you’ve…”

Byleth nods.

“I have not lived for twelve hundred consecutive years like you have… I have lived these last six years thousands and thousands of times.” She smirks as those around her look horrendously confused. “Rhea, or perhaps I should say Seiros,” Marianne, Ashe, and Mercedes stare at the Archbishop like their blood has gone cold. “I will share my story with them all… but I’d ask you do the same.”

She’s unsure what to make of Rhea’s expression in the scant few moments that follow. Both Seteth and Flayn are looking towards her uncertainly, and she imagines very much so considering turning into dragons and roasting Byleth alive.

In her current state, they’d succeed with ease.

And yet, Rhea holds up her hand, a silent order for all in the room to sit back down. All the members of the Church’s guard follow it, taking their seats as she, the Archbishop herself, stands.

“Very well, Byleth.” The usage of her name is not lost on her. “I find my curiosity peaked… I will start, and then…”

She meets Byleth’s eyes.

“I would ask you follow.”

She nods.

“Will do.”

\-----

Rhea finishes explaining the history of the world, the real one, and not the one pushed by her own Church, and Byleth gets a hint of amusement out of the flabbergasted faces of 85% of the students present.

Hubert and Edelgard both look unsurprised, and of course Flayn and Seteth aren’t as well. Claude is still an enigma, hiding his emotions well as he balances his head on one elbow.

The rest, though…

Her Blue Lions are taking it the best. They’d already known about the Agarthans and the Nabateans, but to learn that three of the schools staff had been _among them_? Well, she imagines that still comes as a shock.

The Black Eagles and the Golden Deer are in varying states of bewilderment, and the overall student body seems to be feeling a variety of emotions, ranging from the unsure acceptance of those such as Lysithea and Petra, to the absolute doubt that Felix and Leonie seem to share.

“Wait so…” The red head speaks out. “Your dad is immortal, too?”

“In a way.” She nods, having long since been fitted back into her wheelchair by Mercedes, though a few planks of wood had been placed underneath her so that she resided at about the same eye-level as the others. “He’s not a Nabatean, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I gave Jeralt a sample of my blood to save him, after he took a wound for me in battle.” Rhea explains, a finger to her chin as she thinks for a moment. “That would be… a century ago, now, give or take a few years.”

The knowledge that her idol had always secretly been an unageing pseudo-immortal seems to be hitting Leonie’s psyche in a way the girl just isn’t ready for. She sits in her chair and looks down at the table, mumbling quietly to herself.

“And we’re just supposed to believe that!?” Felix raises his voice ever so slightly, clearly disbelieving. “Oh yes, the school faculty are magical ancient dragons, oh, and a good friend of mine is one too! Yeah, I totally buy that.” He deadpans. “Is that what you expect me to say… seriously?”

“You had no trouble believing the history of the Agarthans and the Nabateans when Professor Byleth told us all.” Dimitri points out.

“Yes, because that was, to my knowledge, a story about an ancient race, one that hadn’t been related, in any way, to people I knew in my day to day life!” Felix snaps. “Forgive me for thinking that Flayn being an immortal mystical dragon is perhaps a tad bit out there.”

“Uhm…” The girl raises her hand meekly. “I could try changing into my divine form, if that would convince you?”

Felix stares at her for a good five seconds.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’d like to hold onto the fragile idea that this world isn’t quite that absurd.”

“Er… okay.” Flayn smiles bashfully. “Thanks for saying you were my friend.”

The boy blushes ever so slightly but doesn’t speak again.

“So… Professor.” Rhea clears her throat, looking back at her with narrowed eyes. “Your story, then?”

She wonders if the people in the room remember that, not an hour ago, they’d been at each other’s throats, and preparing to go to war once more. Luckily, it seems the bombshells she’s dropped have been enough to distract them. But she’s going to have to keep them coming, or else…

Well, or else they’ll kill each other anyways.

“Well… I suppose I should start…” She smiles a bit solemnly. “…At the beginning, huh?”

And so, she tells them of her first lifetime. Of her trek across Fódlan alongside the Blue Lions, her shock at the discovery that Edelgard had been the Flame Emperor, her vague acquaintanceship with Sothis, and her eventual passing at her own hand.

When she finishes, the others are silent, all except Dimitri, who’s looking at Edelgard sadly.

The girl herself won’t meet his eyes, and Byleth can see why. She’d basically given them the sadder version of what _could’ve_ happened back at Embarr this very lifetime. What Edelgard had been _trying_ for that very easily could’ve come to pass. 

“And then… Sothis came to me in a vision. She said… that she had a proposition for me. I accepted without much thought… and she rewound time back to the beginning.” She smiles. “In that lifetime, the first thing I did was run my sword right through Edelgard’s breast.”

The girl in question blanches, and Dimitri instinctively moves a little closer to her. Claude, on the other hand, lets out a small laugh.

“How long til’ the Church executed you for that?” He asks her.

“Two weeks.” She answers with a small smile. “Though I’d been captured in barely five minutes. I wasn’t nearly as strong as I am now back then.”

Claude nods, and waves his hand, letting her continue.

“From there… I don’t know. I tried to figure out how I could save everyone from the Blue Lions first. That was my initial goal, and I’ll admit I didn’t really… care about anyone else.” She pointedly avoids looking towards the Golden Deer or the Black Eagles while saying this. “But… after a while I wondered… what if I’d chosen the Golden Deer? Or the Black Eagles? And so… I tried teaching them instead. And… I began learning.”

She tells them some of what she’s figured out, just enough so that she hopes they’ll believe her, because she’s still not here to sell out everyone on their deepest darkest secrets. By the time she’s finished, a good thirty minutes have gone by, and she’s told them far more random nonsense, things that have little meaning to anyone but her, than she has important information. Her throat is hoarse, and it wants to stop speaking… but no.

She will not let it… not yet.

“And so… your goal became to save all of us?” Ashe asks, looking almost… touched. “And such a thing is so difficult, that even after what… thousands of lifetimes, you’ve still been unable to achieve it?”

“Yeah…” Byleth gives a small, sad laugh. “I… if I were to not interfere with things at all, then… a good half of you would die by the end of the war.”

Multiple faces go pale at that, including Ashe’s himself.

“I just… always thought you were so strong and everything…” Ashe tapers off, looking embarrassed. Catherine claps him on the back, a subtle show of reinforcement that allows him to keep talking, albeit with a red face. “You seemed to have all the answers… I just… if anyone can do it, Professor, then it’s you.”

Those words lift her ever so slightly out of her chair, not literally, since Mercedes has tied her to it to prevent her pulling another stunt, but they make her chest feel lighter, and the pain in her body dissipate.

It also makes her soul feel heavier, though she’s not sure why that would be.

“I… thank you, Ashe.” She places a hand over her ‘heart’, trying to steady it. “So… you all… believe me?”

They look to one another, and a general chorus of nods and agreements has her stunned.

“You believe I’m a time-controlling warrior?” She asks, laughing a bit. “How could you all possibly… hah…”

It’s Sylvain, funnily enough, who answers her.

“Listen, Professor… we just figured out that two of our old teachers, and one of our good friends, are immortal dragon’s, and that crests are actually ancient dragon bone residue… I think?” He looks to Flayn, who gives him a ‘half and half’ gesture with her right hand. “The fact that you’re an undying, reincarnating, gender-swapping, magic-goddess-warrior? That’s, like… the third weirdest thing we’ve heard today.”

Everyone else looks a bit embarrassed to be nodding along with that.

She laughs, even as the overall seriousness of the situation once again dawns on her.

“Thank you… all of you.” She says sincerely. “But… if there’s one thing that these years have taught me, it’s that I can’t do this on my own. I need everyone’s help; I need you acting together to even stand a chance of accomplishing my goal. And… it’s not over. The Agarthans are still out there, and they have Sothis. They’re not just going to sit around and do nothing. We have to act.”

“Of course, Professor.” Dimitri smiles at her. “You’ll have our support. I take it we’ll be leaving soon?”

“Yes, but not alone we won’t be.” She shakes her head, looking towards the rest of the group. “I’m asking everyone comes. We take out the Agarthans in one fell swoop. _Together._ ” She looks around at everyone in the room. “And that means _all_ of us.”

Figures gaze at one another, evidently unsure or doubtful of her little plan. With how things have been going, she cannot find it in herself to blame them… but even so…

“Professor…” Rhea sighs, shaking her head. “What you ask… is impossible. We cannot come to an agreement on anything–”

“Then I’m asking you to shelve all of that!” She exclaims a bit more forcefully than she perhaps needed to. “I’m asking you to forget about all of that, and to focus on working alongside one another. The Agarthans are to blame for almost all of the problems you all face. Surely, there are some things each of you’ll need to own up to, but… Six years ago, you were allies.” She stresses, looking across the crowd. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to rely on the bonds you forged back then.”

“Those bonds were broken, Professor.” Rhea speaks as Edelgard looks down at the table. “Members of our own broke them of their own accord. Now, we will act as they have proven they will; with the force necessary to protect ourselves.”

She grits her teeth.

“And do you think you really think burning the world a second time is the solution?”

Rhea’s eyes narrow, and Byleth takes a moment to realize everyone in the room is watching the two of them with bated breath.

“I will not bow to someone who thinks everything I stand for is a mistake.”

“I am not asking you to bow, Rhea. Nor is Edelgard, despite what you might think.” She interjects. “We are asking you to compromise. To be willing to adjust your ideals to suit the will of the people. Not everyone from the Empire feels the way Edelgard does, surely,” She looks towards the Empress, who shoots her a miniscule glare. “But just as sure as that is that there are those even more extreme than her as well. Edelgard, tell Rhea exactly what it is you want.”

The girl looks towards Byleth with her eyebrows drawn down in confusion, before sighing, and opening her mouth.

“What I desire is simple; I want the full truth of the world available to the citizens of Fódlan. No more church lies, no more cover ups. I don’t think war is the _only_ answer anymore, nor will I come for the heads of every member of the Nabateans. At the same time, the control of the Church must be lessened, if we as a people are to ever grow beyond it. I am not an Agarthan monster, and truly, if I receive the opportunity to purge Thales and his minions from this world, then I will take it without a second thought.”

Byleth, and really everyone else, turns to Rhea.

“In that latter section, we are in agreement.” The Archbishop notes. “However, the Church has been the guiding light of Fódlan since its inception. Scaling it back, telling the truth, would be an insult to those who have devoted themselves to this Church for their entire lives.”

“Is it not better that they free themselves from those delusions?” Edelgard questions. “Is it not better for them to grow strong on their own?”

It is, funnily enough, Dimitri who comes to Rhea’s aid.

“Not all people are strong enough _to_ move on by themselves, El.” Dimitri smiles at her to show he carries no malice. “Some must rely on things like mayors, governors, leaders and, yes, Gods and Goddesses to make it through their day to day lives. To tell them the truth… that would certainly break some of them.”

Edelgard frowns as Rhea’s expression grows more confident. Before she can get a word in, however, Dimitri has rounded on her as well.

“But, Archbishop Rh– no, I suppose you’re Archbishop Seiros, are you not?”

Rhea nods, if at all perturbed by her true name, she doesn’t show it.

“But even you must understand… assassinating those who would try and start other religions, destroying entire towns and organizations who disagree with you on how the Church is run… those things are what have created people like Edelgard, like Lonato, and the Western Church. They cannot continue if this continent is to find peace.”

She mentally cheers Dimitri on, glad that he’s finally decided to join these proceedings, and not just blindly following everything Edelgard says.

“I…” Rhea sighs. “You children do not understand. I have seen a millennia. I have _tried_ being lenient, I have _tried_ to allow a separation of Church and State, I have _tried_ to allow other religions to peacefully coexist with ours. But they only result in war. Wars and more wars for the sake of such petty things, for the sake of made up idols and deities, for the sake of men who care nothing for them. No, I will stay my course. The lives of the few for the lives of the many. I know what must be done, for I have seen more than nearly everyone in this room combined together.”

Some falter at that, but Byleth finds an anger in her heart that betrays her true feelings on the matter. She sits as tall as she can, closes her eyes, places her hands on the table in front of her, and resolves to try and get through to the woman.

“Do you really think you’re above the ideas of everyone here…” She begins, hearing the bodies of everyone turn in their chairs to face her, now. “Do you really think you’re above making mistakes… just because you’re immortal, Rhea?”

The woman’s eyes widen, though she doesn’t interrupt. Clearly, she’s interested (if a bit nervous) to hear what Byleth has to say.

She places a hand over her ‘heart’ and meets the woman’s eyes.

“I’m immortal!” She stresses. “I have lived longer than you, Seteth, and Flayn put together. I have seen this world end in a myriad of ways that none of you can imagine, and I have saved it as many times as that. And I…” She takes a deep breath, old feelings she’d thought buried surfacing. “And I have done _nothing_ but make mistakes!”

Rhea’s eyes widen, as do many other pairs in the hall.

“I’ve said things that’ve caused students to take their own lives! I’ve used words to fracture entire nations! I’ve seduced my students to pry the secrets from their lips! I’ve sabotaged my own armies to slow them down! I’ve let people die, _just_ to see what would happen if they did! I’ve joined the Agarthans to try and get as much information as I possibly could on their actions!” She feels tears gathering in her eyes at that one, the shame almost too much to bear. “I am… the most imperfect being on this damned earth… and y’know what?” She smiles sadly. “I’d take all of it back if I could.”

Those words seem to resonate with the Archbishop, for she leans back in her seat, momentarily stunned.

“You shouldn’t stick with a decision just because you’ve spent an awfully long time making it! _Please!_ ” She stresses with every fiber of her being. “I’m **_begging_ **you all… talk to each other! _Compromise!_ Actually compromise. No more of these… ultimatums, no more of this silent war you’re having.” She realizes tears are actually streaming down her face now, and damnit, when did she become so emotionally vulnerable? “You’re all of you good people at heart. I’m asking you to treat each other like it!”

Silence reigns for a good fifteen seconds after her little speech. There’s not a noise other than deep breaths from a few of the more nervous students and staff, Marianne and Ignatz, along with Ashe and even Dimitri himself.

No matter what happens now… she knows that had been her best chance to sway them. If Rhea truly sticks to her guns after that… nothing she had could’ve stopped her. All she can do now is pray, perhaps ironically, that the Archbishop sees sense, that she resolves to meet the others halfway.

And it’s not just her. Even if Rhea comes around, Edelgard, Claude, and Dimitri will all have to do the same. The issues presented here are not so simple that a temper tantrum can solve them… but she hopes beyond all hope that it’s enough to allow them to come together and see each other as human.

She looks up, and sees Rhea talking quietly with both Seteth and Flayn. She cannot read the words exchanged on their lips, on account of her vision still being a bit blurry from her recent cry-session, but from the small smile on Flayn’s lips, she can only hope what’s to come is a positive thing.

Then, without any real fanfare, Rhea turns to Edelgard.

“Edelgard… I think…” The woman sighs. “I would like to go over those agreements we could not get through today once more. I will attempt to be more… accepting than I was prior.”

Byleth’s eyes are the size of dinner plates as she turns to Edelgard, silently praying that the girl gets the hint, and that finally, _finally_ they can stop going at each other’s throats.

“I…” Edelgard’s face is conflicted, but as Dimitri places a hand on her shoulder, and gives her a soft nod, she seems to come to a resolution. “That sounds most agreeable, I would like that.”

The collective sigh of abject relief that fills the room, coming from the multitude of parties who’ve been standing on a knife’s edge for the last hour, is enough to have both Edelgard and Rhea jump in their seats. She wonders, idly, how neither of them noticed the mood of the hall, but she decides not to worry about it as she leans back in her wheelchair, entirely spent.

Just as she thinks she might be able to relax, the door at the back of the hall bursts open, and a tall and wide man comes lumbering in, sees her, and gasps in horrid relief.

She realizes only as he barrels into her, hugging her against him, that she probably should’ve told her dad she’s alive.

“Thank the Goddess!” Jeralt groans out, evidently letting go of the pent-up worry inside of him at seeing her alright. “You’re alive…”

She smiles, even past the pain in her body at the man’s constriction.

Several soldiers behind her let out airy laughs, as if this is the moment where normality has been restored. She can’t help feeling her father, who has likely fought in battles the likes of which many of them can only imagine, being reduced to a ‘worried dad’ is a bit unfortunate for him, but she can see the humor in it, so she doesn’t mind that much.

“I feel like I’m getting Déjà vu.” She jokes.

Jeralt sighs horrendously once more.

“Could you do me a favor, kid?”

“What?”

He breaks away from her, glaring at her in what she can’t help but feel is an unfair way.

“Stop almost dying all the time.”

She holds back a laugh.

“I’ll work on it?”

Jeralt just sighs.

“Good enough, I suppose.”

Rhea clears her throat, and both Byleth and Jeralt look to the wryly smiling woman with an apologetic air.

“If we could continue with our proceedings…”

“Er, yes.” Byleth bows slightly. “Sorry, Rhea.”

“It’s fine, Professor.”

Edelgard looks around, and then, seemingly deciding no one else wants to do it, decides to speak.

“Then… starting with the cattle agreement.” Edelgard clears her throat. “I would probably be able to requisition enough for my territories to provide replacements for all commandeered by the war effort within four and a half years, and I swear to everyone present that that’s the fastest we can manage without starving our people.”

“Hey, I’d be more than willing to pitch in there.” Claude raises a hand nonchalantly. “We could give some of ours to the Church to bring that time down to three years, at the cost of some payments from the Empire.”

Rhea looks between the two, waiting for Edelgard’s words.

“That… is acceptable.” Edelgard nods Claude’s way. “I appreciate the offer of assistance, Claude.”

“I am alright with that timeframe.” Rhea nods. “In the meantime, the church will lower its taxes on produce to allow farmers to more easily send those products to market, hopefully, that should make up for some of the shortage.”

Dimitri nods.

“I’ll issue the same orders to those in the Kingdoms. Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, if you all could communicate such to your territories ahead of time, that would greatly assist in the process.”

All three nod.

“Very well.” Edelgard nods. “Then I suppose… that’ll be our third actual agreement.” She smiles. “It’s certainly taken a while, but… at least we’re moving.”

The others give grins of varying sizes, though Byleth notices the way Dimitri struggles to keep the proud smile off his face as he looks at Edelgard.

She herself feels the same, but the overall exhaustion of the day is hitting her, and she finds herself leaning back once more.

“Thank Sothis…” She mutters under her breath. “It actually worked out okay…”

Before she can begin to truly relax, however, Rhea calls out to her.

“You’ve said her name a few times now…”

“Sothis?” She asks, sitting back up.

“Yes… you refer to my mother so casually.” Rhea’s brows crease. “Have you two… spoken to one another?”

“Uh… yeah.” She tilts her head. “Sothis and I are… well, uh…” She realizes that maybe she shouldn’t tell Rhea that she’s kind of dating her mom. “Friends. We’re good friends. She talks with me in my head most of the time. She can also sort of materialize and walk around, though I believe I’m the only one capable of seeing her when she does.”

Jeralt looks at her a bit oddly, and she double’s down on the fact that she definitely, definitely can’t let them know she and Sothis are romantically involved.

Dimitri, sweet, innocent Dimitri, who she has to remind herself she loves like a son with every fiber of her being, somehow comes to the conclusion that now is a good time to remember something she’d hoped was locked _deep_ in his subconscious and speak up.

“Oh! That’s who you were kissing that one time when I came into your room!”

The entire table falls deathly silent. Everyone, including several guards who she really feels don’t have the right to look at her so judgmentally, stares at her.

Dimitri, to his credit, has placed both of his hands in front of his mouth, and is frantically shaking his head while looking at her. His efforts to claim he’s sorry are undermined by Sylvain saying “Nice” loud enough for the entire table to hear.

She coughs once to try and dispel the mood.

Nothing happens.

Rhea speaks, and when she does, her voice sounds like it is made of chipped ice.

“You… and my mother are… intimate?”

Byleth coughs again.

The only thing that does is cause Jeralt to quietly groan.

“Erm…” She stares rather pointedly at the table below her. “That’s… well…”

“I suppose that would also explain the Flayn incident at the start of the school year. A young girl with green hair, hm?” Seteth pinches his brow, sighing. “Professor, I’m not quite sure where sleeping with the Goddess falls on a list of the cardinal sins of the Church, but I cannot imagine it’s _low_ on said list.”

She swallows on nothing.

“I… I uh…”

“It’s fine, Seteth.”

Rhea has raised a single hand in the air, quieting both Seteth and Flayn, the latter of whom hasn’t spoken, but has definitely gone bright red in the face. Every other student in the room is shooting her confused looks, except Sylvain, who’s been giving her finger guns for the past thirty seconds.

She spares a moment to give Felix a grateful nod as he elbows the boy in the ribs, because his enthusiasm hadn’t been helping her case in the slightest.

The Archbishop sighs, and it keys Byleth back into paying attention to her next words. She wonders if the woman will have her burned at the stake for this, or simply imprisoned in the dungeons forever.

“I…” She seems to be really struggling with this. “If mother were to choose someone to be with…” The words emerge from her mouth as if Rhea is making herself say them. “I suppose I would like… that is to say… you are… not the worst choice she could’ve made.”

Her eyebrows rise, and they keep rising. By the time she’s ready to even comprehend those words, her eyebrows have likely lifted off somewhere into the stars above.

_“Did… did I just get Rhea’s approval to date her mom…?”_

_“…My life is weird.”_

“In that case… I can see now why your personality has changed in such a short time.” Dimitri smiles over at her a bit sadly. “She was taken from you, and you’re heartbroken about it, are you not?”

She is briefly taken aback, especially so when several men and women she’s known for a good six millennia start looking at her as if she’s some lost puppy found on the side of the path, an object of pity.

“That’s…” She shakes her head, determined to change the subject. She fails. “My personality changed?”

Dimitri looks towards Edelgard awkwardly, as do a few others, before he looks back to her with a soft expression adorning his face. “I’m not trying to be rude when I say this, Professor, but… I don’t think I’ve seen you show emotion that wasn’t cockiness or mirth until today… and in the last hour you’ve cried twice.”

She glares at him. “I resent that.”

“Yes, well, it was you who helped me through that period of my life myself, Professor.” Dimitri speaks, and Byleth can’t help noticing the way Edelgard looks away from him a bit guiltily. “It’s only fair I put in my best effort to do the same for you.”

She blushes, another thing that she can’t help thinking isn’t much like her, though, to be fair, when she thinks back, she’s definitely blushed quite a bit more often than she thinks.

“A-anyways,” She mutters under her breath. “Is Hanneman around? I need to speak with him about something.”

“Hanneman is working in his laboratory,” Rhea gives a quiet sigh. “As he is… _most days._ He chose not to attend tonight.”

“If you’d like, we could go meet with him after the meeting, Profesor?” Manuela offers.

“That’d be good,” She tries to agree. “Yeah-”

“Oh, no you don’t, Professor!”

She turns to the sound of the angry woman’s voice and sees that Mercedes has taken the back of her wheelchair, pulling her out from the massive table.

“This entire time, what _you_ should’ve been doing is resting! Instead, you’ve been here, increasing your stress levels and causing me no end of worries!” Mercedes pushes her towards the door at the back of the room. “No, the only place you’re going is back to the medical wing!”

“H-hey!” She tries to fight against the woman’s control, but as it turns out, it’s hard to fight someone behind oneself when one is tied to a chair. “It’s important!”

“Then I’ll have Hanneman come and visit you!” Mercedes doesn’t stop. “Now quiet. Conserve your energy!”

She wants to protest further, but a few voices ring out from the front of the hall.

“Go, Professor.” Edelgard smiles at her. “We can handle things from here.”

“Yes, we are perfectly capable.” Rhea shakes her head, but Byleth sees the ghost of a smile on her lips as she looks back up. “Thank you for the talking to, Byleth. I needed it more than I realized.”

“Get well soon, teach.” Claude salutes. “We might not be able to solve all of this tonight as we’d hoped for at first… but this is the start.”

“I’ll be by later, Professor.” Dimitri nods to her. “In case you need someone to talk to.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can try and protest any further, Jeralt has begun walking alongside her as well.

“So… skimping out on resting, are you?”

She glares at him.

“Yes, forgive me for wanting to prevent a second continent-wide-war.”

Jeralt pauses for a moment.

“You’re forgiven.”

She hisses.

Mercedes giggles quietly as Jeralt scratches the back of his neck, a small, oddly playful smile on his face quickly giving way to something a bit more melancholic.

“Hey, uhm… miss?”

Mercedes turns to him.

“I know where the medical wing is, uh, would you mind if I took my daughter back there? I’d like to have a serious conversation with her.”

Mercedes eyes’ briefly widen, before she nods with a tiny smile, giving Byleth one last hard look before stepping away, and back into the hall they’d only briefly exited.

Her father’s hands guiding her are much wobblier, and she admits to more than once letting out a noise of worry as her chair tipped one way a bit too much on a flight of stairs. Still, she can tell her father’s simply waiting to say something, and so she doesn’t speak.

He finally does a good minute or two later.

“So…” He clears his throat. “I’m uh… not entirely sure how to breach this topic.”

She momentarily blanches.

“If you’re about to give me the talk, then rest assured-”

He lightly bats her atop the head.

“Idiot. I gave you the talk when you were fourteen.”

She feels she can be forgiven for forgetting about that, given that it’s been about six thousand years since then.

“I was going to ask… how serious are you about… y’know, the, uhm…”

She’s never seen her father quite this awkward. It’s actually a treat. She briefly debates not finishing his sentence, and forcing him to embarrass himself further, but decides that would be a bit too dickish, and instead answers his unspoken question.

“She’s who I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jeralt’s eyes briefly widen, before his entire visage softens.

“Is that so…?” He smiles. “I can remember feeling that way for the first time. It was… the most powerful thing I’d felt in my entire life, perhaps it still is to this day.”

She nods, but before she can say anything else, Jeralt’s pulled something from his pocket, and placed it inside her left hand. Upon inspection, the object is revealed to be…

Her mother’s ring.

“I’d been keeping that close to me recently when you were… well, when we thought you’d died.” Jeralt sighs. “Felt Sitri might keep me strong while I was feeling so weak… and look out for you in your darkest hour.” She doesn’t let her father see the paleness of her face. “But… now that you’ve recovered, I can’t think of any better usage for it.” He smiles. “When you see her again… don’t wait. Give that to her.”

It’s funny, because she’s both almost crying and almost laughing by the time she’s capable of speaking again.

Her parents… they’re so damned similar it’s almost funny.

“Yeah… I got the same lecture from mom.”

Jeralt’s eyes widen.

“You… what!?”

She turns around and smiles at him.

“When I was passed out…” She speaks, and finds that, even past all of the bad things happening, the time limit on her life, the condition of her body, Sothis’ taking, she can’t feel that worried with her father beside her. “I… well, let’s just say I had a rather odd encounter.”

Jeralt lets out a noise of utter bewilderment as she remembers something else, and she gives a small laugh as she turns to him in her chair.

“Oh, right…”

“Mom said to give you her regards.”

\-----

Hanneman comes to visit her a good four hours later, and even if she’s sad to have to bid farewell to her father, they’re both so clearly exhausted that it’s probably a good idea, honestly.

She’d been sat there, listening to stories of her mother for almost the entire duration of her stay in the medical wing. She’d begun with her own story, her telling of how her mother had come to rescue her from her predicament, had put a fire in her breast when nothing else could. She could tell from the way Jeralt’s expression had shifted then that he’d nearly cried at that news.

It had been… fulfilling to tell her father.

He’d spent the rest of the evening telling her odd things about her mother, like how, despite him being a mystical warrior with Rhea’s blood and her a dainty and frail lady who wore prim and proper clothing, she’d somehow been able to outdrink him every time they went out for one.

“She’d – hah!” He laughs, apparently the memory too much for him to retain a straight face, and the energy is infectious, as Byleth finds herself laughing along. “She’d take eight pints from the ranks of my men, line them up, and then drink them one after the other! Goddess, the men used to cheer for hours at her displays.”

Byleth finds herself joining in that revelry, even as curiosity builds in her breast.

“How did she do that?”

A twinkle appears in Jeralt’s eye, one of mischief. “According to her, since her body was ‘special’, and boy, I had no idea at the time what she meant by that, she couldn’t actually get drunk, she was just awful good at faking it. So, to her, beer was just a bitter juice.” He guffaws. “Made my men go crazy though, so I never told. She’d show off her ‘skills’ every time we got someone new in the band.” He lets out a quiet sigh. “Those were good times.”

The rest of the night’s stories had been a lot like that one, and the hours had trickled by rather quickly. By the time Hanneman had come in, her face had been red in a multitude of ways. Her cheeks from the laughter, her forehead from the sickness of her state, and her eyes from crying.

Her father looked much the same, minus the sickness.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt.” Hanneman had opened. “But I was told you wanted to speak with me, Professor, oh, and might I say, it’s a wonder to see you up and about again.”

“Thanks, Hanneman.” She smiles over at him, and then towards her father. “Uhm… I hate to cut the night short, but-”

“Don’t be.” The gentle giant stands, nodding to Hanneman. “I promised the men I’d head out drinking tonight. We’re celebrating your waking up.”

She shoots him a wry grin.

“Aren’t the people the parties are about generally supposed to attend?”

“Well, I suppose,” Jeralt places a hand on his chin, scratching his beard, and the look on his face is a terrible approximation of what one might consider ‘pondering’, his bad acting on display once again. “But no one in the band had any complaints about you not being there.”

She barks out a laugh.

“Assholes. Fine, fine. Have a good time, tell them all I think they’re a bunch of bastards.”

He gives her a small thumbs-up as he exits the medical wing.

She turns to Hanneman and tells him of her plan.

By the time she’s finished some ten minutes later, the man has already brought out a piece of paper to begin sketching upon. Clearly, from his enthusiasm, he must think her idea is feasible at the least.

“Yes… yes… I could probably do that.” Hanneman looks towards her. “And when would you need it by?”

“Well… we’re leaving the Monastery to chase down the Agarthans at the end of the month…” She looks at the calender on the wall just in front of her, and winces. “So… five days from now.”

Hanneman’s eyebrows go mighty high on his head.

“You ask what most would say is impossible, Professor Eisner.”

She smirks at him.

“Most?”

“Anyone but me would be a lost cause, I’m afraid…” He stands and twirls his mustache. “Luckily…”

He meets her gaze with a glint in his eye.

“You _do_ have me.”

\-----

Kronya’s really not sure what’s going on when the torturing stops.

She hadn’t expected for her pain to cease until her life had been snuffed out, and yet, as she’s dragged out of the machine she’d been locked into, thrown on the ground, and told to walk as spears tap her lightly on the back, a less than subtle threat, she’s more than willing to acquiesce.

 _“Anything to get away from that.”_ she can’t help thinking.

One might think that they’d have a lot to think about while being tortured for weeks on end, but no, not really. The mind shuts off after a while, finding no real need to communicate anything once it’s given up. Kronya’s had held on a long, long time, but even she had seen no reason to prolong the inevitable.

She’d pay for her ‘betrayal’ with her life, and honestly, she’d been fine with that.

She’d chosen to save Byleth when the woman had been at her weakest, to help escort the King and Empress out of the Empire before they could be converged upon and killed. Honestly, she might think she’d saved the world if she had been a particularly self-centered person.

Which she is, of course, so that’s why, if she gets the chance, she’s going to claim she saved the world.

She’s led to stand in front of Thales, who’s currently feeding a green liquid into his final experiment. The ancient and decayed body of Nemesis stands in a coffin of steel, one that will, and they all know it to be true, not be nearly strong enough to contain him when he awakens.

“Ah, Kronya.” Thales steps away from the device. “Thank you for coming.”

She decides to cut right to the chase. “What am I here f-”

He holds a finger up, shushing her as he continues working.

“First, observe.”

She does, sighing as she looks up at Nemesis’ body, which has been filled with the green liquid from earlier.

“So… you turned him into a keg for some really, really fucked beer?”

Thales actually gives a breath of laughter at that, though not quite in a ‘laughing with you because your joke was great’ kind of way, but more in a ‘laughing at how idiotic the mind of a child can be’ sort of vibe.

She gets the feeling he’s never laughed in his life unless he’d been forced to do so.

He gestures towards a bag, which, upon closer inspection, contains more of the green fluid. Well, in all likelihood, it’s simply ‘the bag that has the green fluid in it’. It’s hooked up almost like a nutrient bag to Nemesis’ shoulder, feeding it into him via an IV.

“Do you know what that is?”

She nods.

“It’s one of the last things you fuckers bothered to tell me. It’s the blood of Seiros. You started collecting it from her in the last few months before Byleth and her-”

A hand strikes her face, rattling her and cutting off her talking entirely. Normally, such a weak strike would have no effect on her, but she truly hadn’t expected the blow.

“Do not speak the Fell Star’s name in my presence.” Thales seethes, before gathering himself once more. “Yes, you are correct. We began gathering Seiros’ blood after I came up with an interesting idea.” He turns towards her as Seiros’ blood is emptied out of the bag, and into Nemesis’ corpse. “It’s not important you know that, however, for now, I have a job for you.”

She finds herself snickering, despite the pain that action brings in her disfigured face.

“Wasn’t aware I was still on payroll.” She jokes. “Pretty sure you let me go a few weeks back. I still haven’t gotten my last wage, y’know?”

Thales gestures with his head to the guard behind her, and she tenses just as the haft of his spear slams into her back, knocking her to the ground.

“Up.”

She does climb back to her feet, but if Thales thinks she’s been cowed by his little ‘show of force’ then he’s going to receive about thirteen one-liners and a sword to the face to the contrary.

“I admire your tenacity.” The guy keeps blabbering. “Most would’ve broken entirely under the torture you endured, but you… you’ve kept both your mind and your body in working order.”

She sneers.

“Ain’t that how you designed me to be?” Kronya questions. “Wouldn’t make much of a ‘perfect double agent’ if I cracked under torture would I?”

“Hmph. No, I suppose you would not.” Thales shakes his head, a sadistic smile peeking through his ‘sophisticated’ demeanor. “Even so, you’ve shown a resiliency that I will not undersell. And that resiliency just might make you useful to our cause once again.”

She almost laughs at his words.

“And… what? After you tortured me for a month and a half, you think I’m just going to, what, join the hunt, have a good time with you all? Maybe arrange a picnic?”

Instead of hitting her again as she expects, Thales merely gives a thin and intimidating smirk.

“I do think that, actually, though, perhaps we’ll forgo the picnic.”

The world must be ending, seeing as how Thales has just made a joke.

“Well, whether or not you’re the one making the choice to _do so_ …” Thales turns away from her, charging up some kind of spell. When he turns back around, she is able to see what it is.

A memory altering charm; the same one he’d used on her just before she left for the Monastery, to stand in as Monica.

“What, thinking of taking away my memories of hating you all?” She laughs. “I don’t quite think that’ll cut it but be my guest.”

“Oh, no, I won’t be taking any memories from you today.”

The soldiers behind her grab her by the shoulders, holding her still. She could resist, but they’re bred for their strength, and she certainly hadn’t been, so she doesn’t bother.

“In fact, the only thing that we’ll be doing is giving you a few… _extras._ ”

She braces herself as the spell approaches her forehead, and though she knows not what she’ll see, she cannot imagine they’ll be particularly entertaining images she’s to be provided with.

“You must realize you’ll be killed.” She forces herself to bark out a laugh. “Byleth and her little band will eviscerate you all.”

Thales’ perpetual smile at that fact only serves to unnerve her further.

“Oh, they’ll come, most assuredly. I have no doubt they’ll destroy everything we’ve built… but they’ll _still_ be too late to stop us.”

And then, with those cryptic words, Thales reaches forward.

The spell makes contact with her skin, and though her mouth opens to scream, no noise pours out.

Images flash through her head faster than she’s ever seen them.

A boy who looks strikingly familiar, his journey across Fódlan, and his eventual end at his own hand…

And once again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then.
> 
> 2 CHAPTERS LEFT!
> 
> This is, by far, the longest chapter of the story. It was the longest in my notes, but holy crap, it ended up being even longer than I'd expected it to be. 17,831 words to be precise. Yeesh.
> 
> This took a bit to make, but luckily, the next two chapters (plus an epilogue, I don't know why I always forget to mention the epilogue) will be a bit shorter (or they won't be, honestly I don't super know).
> 
> Alright, that's all for me. I'll see everyone... eventually.
> 
> Hopefully two or three weeks from now? Maybe less?


	12. Confessions in the Snow; And the Four Lords Screamed

“It’s finished.”

Byleth turns from her place in the training halls, having been in the middle of her rehabilitation stretches under the _extremely_ watchful eye of both Manuela and Mercedes, to see Hanneman stumble in, a horrid mess of a beard on his face that looks as if it hasn’t been shaved in a week, and bags under his eyes that have bags of their own.

“It’s done!” He yells just a bit too loud for being roughly five feet from the three of them. “I haven’t slept in a good three days… but it’s _done!_ ”

She stands up, having regained enough control over her body to do that (Mercedes doesn’t approve, but given that they’ll be setting out to go and raid Shambala at noon later in the day, she also doesn’t really have a counter to why Byleth _shouldn’t_ be exercising either), and walks over to Hanneman, looking over the device in the man’s hand.

“This is…”

“A tool made to transfer a Crest Stone.” He confirms, laughing a bit hysterically. “The other researchers and I have been working on it for five days straight. I myself have slept perhaps ten hours… if that… the entire time. BUT!” He shouts once more. “It’s complete!”

Manuela sighs. “You’ve said that several times now.”

“Technically he said a different thing every time.” Mercedes smiles at the older woman, earning her a small glare that causes her to giggle near-silently.

“Still…” Hanneman strokes his now slightly wilder moustache. “I can’t help wondering what it is you’d need this for. Only you would be able to utilize the crest itself, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s the idea.” Byleth says, her eyebrows drawn down in doubt. “But I just have a… feeling.” She looks at him and shrugs. “Can’t really explain it. Call it intuition or something. Besides, if there’s one thing I _do_ know for a fact…”

“…It’s that the Agarthans will always come up with a way to screw me over.”

\-----

They set out long past their allotted noon timeslot, and well into the evening, which is later than she’d wanted to be leaving, but as it turns out, getting a bunch of men and women who had been, up until a month ago, fighting one of the continents greatest wars against one another to work _together_ is a bit of a difficult task.

Even still, things go better than she could’ve really hoped for. None of the soldiers do anything more than bicker amongst themselves, and none turn violent, either. They aren’t exactly… friends, if she’s being honest, but then again, she’s not asking them to get along.

It takes them roughly five days to make it to Hrym, and when they do, it’s the 30th, the day of the months end. She’s never really seen a point in questioning why things _always_ seem to happen at the end of the month, because it doesn’t really matter to her, but even she can see how that might be odd.

Well, not like that affects her now. They make their way up onto a nearby hill and look down upon the innocuous entrance to one of the world’s greatest strongholds.

Shambhala, the Underground City, stands before them.

Their more agile warriors make their way down the cliff-face slowly, while the rest of the armies take the long road around. The idea is that the advance guard can deal with anything that’ll be lying in wait for them, and Byleth’s appreciative of that, because thanks to the pain that’s still wracking her body, she’s one of the people taking that longer path.

She sighs as she makes it down to the entrance below over thirty minutes later, having been carried along in the back of a carriage. Not even two weeks ago (well, for her two weeks, technically it’d been multiple months) she’d have been there scaling the cliff with the rest of them. Hell, she’d have been the first to the bottom.

She wonders if this is what becoming old feels like, and shudders.

 _“I never want to experience this again.”_ She thinks to herself rather aimlessly.

Still, she has to admit she’s surprised as her advanced guard walks over, having found no traps, no ambushes, and no… _anything_. She’d been expecting all of the above, and _then_ some, if Thales truly did know that she knows where this base is.

Clearly… something’s up.

She says as much to Dimitri, who’s lead the advanced guard, and the man nods rather calculatingly, even as both Edelgard and Claude come to meet up with the two of them as well, the former coming to stand beside the Blue King, and the latter beside Byleth herself.

“The Agarthans were never ones to slack on security.” Edelgard confirms for her. “There’s something about this that has me unsettled.”

The other two nod in agreement.

Still, there’s not much else for them to do other than file into the entrance.

Ultimately, Shambhala is a rather empty place, filled not with civilians or workers, but with warriors and mages. They don’t really take up much space, and there are only around five or so thousand Agarthans to begin with.

The force they’ve brought with them is easily that strong, if not more than double it. They will have no issues laying siege to the base. This isn’t _all_ of the Agarthans, there are simply always more popping up out of the woodwork whenever Byleth turns her head, but at the same time, it’s the majority.

Well, the problem comes in with those who the Agarthans plan to resurrect.

Within the bowels of this place is the ancient and decayed body of Nemesis, along with his ten elites. They will be the final challenge after she’s dealt with Thales and his minions, assuming, of course, that he’s not come up with something dastardlier than even them.

She chooses to stop thinking along that particular train of thought, not wanting to jinx herself.

They push into the base cautiously, and though they are initially left almost entirely alone, Byleth knows such a thing cannot last forever. She rounds a corner, and just barely manages to duck backwards, her millennia of honed instinct enough to push back her dying body just enough, to avoid the incoming arrow that sails past her, and into the opposite wall.

“We’ve got contacts!” Claude shouts, drawing an arrow onto his own bow and firing it off. Judging by the small scream, Byleth assumes he’s nailed his target, though such an assumption if often a safe one, given the man’s skill. “Yo, Dimitri, your unit got this?”

Dimitri nods, turning to both Sylvain and Ingrid, who stand just behind him, and giving the two the smallest of hand signals. In the next moment, the two commanders are shouting for their troops first, and those units funnel down the narrow hallways towards them, as Claude continues to buy them space with Failnaught, taking out warrior after warrior.

When the spearmen do finally form up, it’s Dimitri who launches their first wave. He goes in first, followed quickly by Sylvain and Ingrid’s units, and then Edelgard begins calling for her own reinforcements. They’ll be the next ones into the tight hole just ahead (and if she hadn’t been on the battlefield, she might’ve made a joke about _that_ , but as things stand, she lacks the emotional strength to be cracking said jokes), followed lastly by Rhea and Claude.

Rhea, speaking of her, enters into the cavern just after that. She looks at the walls around them with some vague intrigue, and Byleth can only wonder what it is she sees in them. She might’ve lived an immortal life, but the contexts _of_ said life are so radically different that they might as well be different things.

She cannot imagine having to see everyone she loved die, only to grow close to a new generation of people, and then have it happen again, for all of eternity. She understands, without really saying anything, just how Rhea’s compassion must’ve faded.

Having it for so long… it had to take a heavy toll.

Something of that plight seems awfully familiar to her, but she dismisses it. She can think about it once the battles over.

The sound of a magical explosion draws her eye, and she sees where Ingrid emerges from a ball of dark energy. She looks barely injured at all, a fabric of her naturally high magical resistances, and she lets out a breath, silently thanking Sothis for keeping the girl safe.

She herself finds she can no longer allow herself to idle. She pushes off of the wall and hops down to where the others are. Within the cacophony of fired arrows and magic spells, she slots rather easily into a missing hole in the formation, covering it with her own shield, Seiros’ Shield, which Rhea had given to her about a week back.

_“You truly intend to go along, then?” The woman had asked. “Even in your state?”_

_Byleth had nodded._

_“I… there’s no alternative. I have to see this through to the end… that’s the feeling I get. If I didn’t go, and it turned out I **needed** to… if everyone was lost because of me… I’d never forgive myself. Besides,” She’d smiled up at the woman. “Sothis is waiting for me.”_

_Rhea’s eyes had softened, and hardened, and a million other things that seemed to hint that the woman still really hadn’t been sure what to make of **that,** but she sighs as she gestures for a nearby guard to approach. The man pulls off a rucksack from his back and empties it out just in front of Byleth._

_“Then… I bestow this upon you,” Rhea speaks as Byleth’s eyes gaze at the gleaming form of Seiros’ Shield. “I cannot do much to protect you… But… I will do what I can to keep you safe. Even now, I’ve always considered you my…”_

_The woman’s voice goes flat, and Byleth looks up to see Rhea looking away from her, seemingly embarrassed._

_The guard makes his exit, perhaps realizing this is no place for him, and Byleth stands, having really only regained **that** ability the prior day, and wraps her arms around the woman._

_“Thank you.” She speaks, and she finds she means it. “I’ll do everything in my power to get Sothis back, for the both of us. This…” Her gaze lingers on the shield as a small smile blossoms on her lips. “This is just the thing I need to help do it.”_

_Rhea nods into her shoulder._

_“I trust you.”_

_She nods back._

_“And I as well.”_

A magical fireball bounces right off the shield, and she mentally thanks Rhea once again as an arrow does the same. Ingrid reinforces her from the front a moment later, tanking a few more magical hits on Lúin before charging into the enemy mages. Her forces follow, and quickly annihilate the front section.

Byleth is actually noticing something rather quickly the longer she’s in battle.

These things are nowhere near as calm and calculating when any mistake she makes can be her last.

She’d gotten so used to that ‘above it all’ feeling, so used to being able to simply rewind if it came to it, that now, when the chips are down, and every single order might be the difference between the life and death of her students, she’s hesitating. She’s scared, terrified, even, that she’ll mess up, and get one of them killed.

And yet, even so, as she sees a sniper in a compromising position, she calls out for her mages to destroy him before she bats an eye, almost instinctually.

When they do just that, and thank her for pointing that out to them, she remembers that even if she _wants_ to be afraid, even if she _wants_ to sit back and be ordered around, not have to make the hard calls…

Well, someone has to.

Someone will be forced to tell Ingrid and Sylvain when to push into the enemy forces, and they might not be as knowledgeable as her. Someone will have to tell Claude and his troops when to leave their makeshift sniper’s nest, and they might not understand the flow of battle as well as she does.

Someone will have to know when to charge into the depths of Shambhala, and there is no one outside of the Agarthans themselves who know the city as well as she does.

No. She cannot sit back. Even if her decisions could get her troops killed… is that not what she’d signed up for in the first place? Is that not why she’s here, to prevent that from happening?

She refuses to be complicit in her forces destruction, she will _fight_.

She will _win._

Her forces finally break through the enemies front line. It’s not much, but it’s their first victory of the day, which is _something,_ at least. Hopefully, by the end of the day, they’d be on their way back to Garreg Mach, Sothis in hand and the day won.

The battle flows rather normally from there. Where she had been hesitating before, now she knows she must be confident, assured. She will not let her students down at the eleventh hour, but at the same time, they will not let her down, either. In their current states, the Agarthans stand no chance in hell against them.

They’re forced to retreat, and Byleth gets just the smallest hint of victory. Just the smallest taste of what they could experience, just that tiniest bit closer to Sothis… and feels a small pulse. It’s a tiny, absent thing, one that’s hard to describe really. It’s almost like…

 _“Sothis?”_ She recognizes the feeling. _“Are you…”_

She gets no response, which is far from a shocking revelation. She hadn’t truly expected anything, but even so, the fact that she could recognize the feeling… seems to spell out to her that something is wrong.

She grips onto the flamberge weapon in her right hand, The Sword of Seiros, in an effort to steady herself, and charges back into the fray, striking down a particularly nasty Agarthan warrior as she remembers back to receiving this weapon as well.

_“Professor?” She remembers Edelgard’s voice ringing out from just beyond her room. “May I enter?”_

_She calls out to her, telling her to enter, and the girl – **woman** – does a moment later, smiling upon seeing her face._

_“Were you busy, Professor?”_

_“No, no,” She puts away the small bit of reading material before her and sits up from her position on her bed. “Just reading. Mercedes thinks that’s about the most intensive thing I should be doing.”_

_Edelgard gives a soft, breathy laugh at the thought._

_“I must say I agree with her assessment.”_

_She snickers herself._

_“So, you’re betraying me as well?”_

_Another mirth-filled moment earned, and Edelgard decides to get on with it, and say how she really feels._

_“Your weapon…” The woman mutters quietly. “It’s still back in the empire, is it not?”_

_She nods affirmatively._

_“Then… you have need of one, do you not?”_

_“Well yeah, I guess I do.”_

_Edelgard nods herself, reaching down to her waist and taking the sword there off of it._

_“This is the Sword of Seiros.” She confirms for Byleth. “It belonged to Rhea, but when she was captured at the start of the war, I… er… well, the Empire ‘acquired’ it.”_

_She gives a small “mhm” to show she totally buys that._

_“Anyways, what I’m saying is… I have no need of it.” She gestures to the axe on her waist. “I have Aymr, and, well,” She smirks. “I have Dimitri as well. I’ve no need for a decorative blade to wear on my hip.”_

_Byleth finds herself smiling amusedly._

_“I didn’t know Dimitri counted as a sword.”_

_“He’s fairly effective. His spear is rather pointy, it deals with most of my problems.”_

_She wonders if the girl is aware of the… **implications** of what she’s said._

_“What was that?” She asks, hoping the girl will put it together._

_Edelgard seems to think on her words for a moment, before her face goes bright red._

_“I… that is to say…”_

_“I know what you meant.” She winks at the girl._

_“P-Professor, please!”_

_“Have fun, you two, don’t forget to wear protection.”_

_“ **Professor!** ”_

She steps past her formation without realizing, too lost in memories, and this time, its Sylvain who saves her life, hauling her back into the wall of troops and yelling at her as he does so, which, while feeling a bit unfair, is probably still the proper course of action. She’s still drawn to the feeling on the edge of her subconscious, but its more muted now. She’s only getting the residual feelings now, aftershocks of that first pulse.

And then, on the very edge of her consciousness, she feels something entirely wrong. She screams for her frontline to back up, and the fact that they do is likely the only thing which saves their lives, for in that next moment, two blazing black swords cut across just where they’d been standing.

When the figure dashes towards Byleth at a speed she can only match through instinct, the clash of Seiros’ blade against the enemies twin swords, one short and one long, the force of the resulting blow is enough to send her skidding backwards across the ground.

She looks up, feeling a bit awkward at how happy she is to see the assailant in front of her, and smiles. If the soldiers around her think that odd… well, she can hardly blame them.

She thinks it’s a bit odd as well.

But seeing the girl before her alive, not as a corpse as she’d been expecting, is more than she could’ve hoped.

“Hey, Kronya,” She smarms, feeling some of her old poise return to her body at the sight of her one true rival. “Fancy seeing you here.”

She’d expected a smarmy greeting back, perhaps an angered barb, hell, she’d have been cool with silence if she’s being honest with herself.

She’s notably less okay with the way the woman rears back and gives a screeching roar.

The noise is that of a beast, not at all something that should be emerging from the mouth of a human. It is filled with so many emotions that Byleth feels her heart breaking at just the sound.

It is a lot like a laugh of utter desperation, something born not from humor, but from agony, and sorrow, and anger, and determination. Something the body puts on as a front just to keep moving. It is like that, but with another thousand things thrown into it, blended together, and expelled with a force not unlike a cannon.

Kronya’s body looks different, now that Byleth checks. Blazing orange lines run across the black designs of her bodysuit, and her tails have been augmented with what looks to be Agarthan technology. They writhe and lash, seemingly having minds of their own.

Kronya’s face, however, is what truly gets to her. The woman’s eyes are pure orange, as if molten magma resides behind them. They glow iridescently, on a spectrum ranging from a bright red in certain sections to a hot yellow.

There is nothing within them. No emotion, no feeling. The girl before her, for that is what she’d been before whatever it is had happened to her, is locked away behind those eyes.

She grips onto the flamberge in her hand so hard that her knuckles go white, and she steps forward with such purpose that she briefly forgets every other reason she’d come.

“Hey, Kronya?” She speaks, and she’s quietly thrilled that, even past the façade hanging over her, the girl still looks up at the sound of her name. “If you can hear me in there… then don’t worry. I’m going to free you.”

Kronya’s body roars. Her own eyes harden.

“No matter what.”

Their first few exchanges catch her off-guard. The words ‘fast’ and ‘frenetic’ really don’t even begin to describe the girl’s new ‘style’, if one wants to call it that. Her hits are that of Dimitri at his most untamed, with the speed of Byleth herself.

Actually, the style reminds her an awful lot of her own.

She finds herself blown back by the seventh or eighth strike, hitting a nearby wall and coughing up blood at the impact. There’re a lot of unique things happening in that moment, but not the least of which is that she’s not all that accustomed to losing fights. She has far fewer strategies in place to handle something like this than she does to end a fight that she’s dictating.

Luckily, she’s not alone. Dimitri is the first to step in and fight, blocking Kronya’s immediate follow-up that likely would’ve forced Byleth to, at the very least, do quite the desperate maneuver to get out of the way. Even so, it would be a lie to say the boy looked comfortable as he locked the haft of Areadbhar against Athame, and the girl’s other blade, a nameless, lifeless thing.

Unexpectedly, however, Kronya is faster than the Blue King, and, as she’d suspected, far faster as well. She blitzes past his defenses and has a window where she could strike out at him, perhaps even bring the young boy to his knees.

She raises her sword in the span of a millisecond, and Byleth finds herself letting out an aching scream, thinking that Dimitri might end up being hurt, maybe even…

At the last moment, however, Kronya’s blade averts its course, sinking into the stone floor just beside Dimitri as the girl herself grips at her head, letting out a horrid scream as she backs away. Byleth’s eyebrows shoot up, though she isn’t exactly sure what to make of what’s just happened until Dimitri himself acts on the moment he’s been given. He utters a silent apology, before dodging into the girl’s guard while she’s still distracted and stabbing into her left shoulder.

Even had the blow landed, which it hadn’t, Kronya had dodged it, taking only a scant scratch along her left deltoid, the wound wouldn’t have been a fatal one. One meant to incapacitate, not to kill. Byleth had been going for the very same strikes, trying to land nonfatal blows. Even past everything the girl has done, Byleth can’t hide that she wants Kronya to make it through this.

She forces herself back into the action, pushing off the wall that she’d been flat against for the last minute, and getting Seiros’ Sword properly back into the center of her palm. She charges inwards, trying to reach the point where Kronya and Dimitri are exchanging blows quickly enough to get between them.

When she does reach them, she ducks underneath Kronya’s lifeless blade, and stabs up with her flamberge. It doesn’t cut into her wrist like she’d been hoping it would, but she’s able to keep her from blocking Dimitri’s next blow, which allows the boy to score a nasty cut along her right side.

The beast-like Kronya lets out an aching cry as she takes a few steps back, pointing her swords and whips forward like an animal might posture aggressively to try and threaten away predators. She doesn’t move, but Dimitri does, stepping forward and bringing Areadbhar to bear.

Kronya lets out a soft growl at seeing that, turning instead to Byleth. Her eyes narrow as she seems to make some decision, and then, in the moment Dimitri blinks, she moves.

It is a fast enough charge that by the time Dimitri’s brain recognizes what’s happening, the girl has already made it halfway to Byleth. He strikes out with his spear like a viper, managing to score a fairly deep gash right below the girl’s ribcage on her right side, but somehow, Kronya ignores that.

Byleth’s own flamberge is knocked aside, and though Kronya has a window to cut her down right then and there, or at least deal a pretty severe hit to her, she instead grips onto Byleth by the waist, pushing her with some unnatural strength.

She swears as Kronya forces her backwards, dealing with Dimitri and a few other soldiers at the same time with her whip-like tails, which lash out at any who try and get too close. Byleth finds herself looking behind her as Kronya deals with them, trying to see just what it is she’s being pushed towards.

She curses once again as she realizes it’s a human-sized chasm.

She struggles against Kronya’s grip, but the girl’s fingers are like steel, and she has no hope of separating the two of them without chopping them off, and with her sword being held down by Kronya’s lifeless blade, that’s not exactly an option.

Before she can really even ponder an escape plan, Kronya’s made it to the chasm, she lets out a roar that sounds caught halfway between victorious and sorrowful.

A second later, ignoring a desperate scream from Dimitri, she plunges the both of them into the darkness.

The fall isn’t actually all that bad, really. She takes most of it on the leather teaching outfit she’s always worn, and though a good portion of that outfit gets sheered away by the jagged rocks, she’s not bleeding too terribly by the time they hit the ground, a good fifty feet below where they’d started. Thanks to the angle they’d fallen at, too, she hasn’t broken anything upon landing, either.

Kronya, on the other hand, looks far and away worse off. She’d had barely a thing on her body, besides her normal outfit, but quite honestly, the thing is far more useful as fetish gear than it is as armor.

Cuts and scratches cover her torso, running up her back, her arms, and legs, and even a few on her face. She also seems to have lost her lifeless blade somewhere along the drop, which is a drop of good luck that Byleth won’t be complaining about. Kronya pants as she stands, drawing Athame into a reverse grip as she turns towards Byleth, her eyes hard. 

She herself swears as Kronya’s blade sails right over her head, and impacts against the rocky wall just behind her, sending pebbles and little pieces of what seems to be granite tumbling down onto her back.

She just barely manages to push herself off the rocks and away from Kronya’s blade before the girl stabs down, utterly eviscerating the wall itself. Surprisingly, she doesn’t utilize her tails at all, despite the fact that they seem to home in on her location, as if tracking her. They vibrate in place, as if being held back by some invisible force.

She doesn’t waste that moment. In the second of time before the beast can draw its weapons back from out of the rock, Byleth strikes against the roots of one of the whips, muttering a silent apology.

Instead of severing the ‘limb’ however, her flamberge merely bounces off.

She looks down at the sword and sees that its holy radiance is muted in that spot, as if it had stuck something black and malignant. A curse flies from her lips as she forces herself to dodge backwards, narrowly evading the twin tails’ pincer attack. Athame nearly crashes down on her left side, but she’s barely able to bring Seiros’ shield up in front of her to block the attack.

It shatters the magical artifact as it makes contact, and she swears as she’s forced to abandon the thing on the floor below her, though she makes sure to mentally thank Rhea one last time for the gift. It had inarguably saved her life more than once today.

She makes space in the tiny rocky cave they’ve found themselves in. She has barely ten feet of room to work with as she allows herself to be pushed back, and silently prays to her patron goddess that she doesn’t run out of space to move in, or else this duel will come to a sudden, and rather anticlimactic, end.

Even still, the result of this exchange is obvious. Against this souped-up combination of Kronya’s end her own style, with her still being heavily weighed down by her injuries, preventing her from utilizing her normal, acrobatic maneuvers…

She doesn’t stand a chance here. That’s for certain.

As hard as it is to admit, she either needs to outsmart the beast before her, or get help. Option one would be nice, but she’s honestly not sure a blow to Kronya’s body, if she somehow landed one by tricking the girl, would even work. And option two sounds great, except for the part where she’s fifty feet or so under Shambhala.

She’s well and truly alone.

Her only real chance is to try and go for a rather desperate gambit, essentially a riskier option one, to try and overturn this. She’s betting an awful lot on Kronya being one; woundable and two; trickable. It’s a gamble…

But hell, she has no other options.

When Kronya strikes at her guard again, she feints being hurt by the strike, baits her into a further attack, and steps to the side of it at her maximum speed. She can feel a pain shoot up her legs, knows without really understanding why that she won’t be able to pull that again, and stabs forward, trying to plant her sword directly in Kronya’s right shoulder, a move that should, hopefully, take her out of the fight.

The next several moments happen in slow motion. She watches as Kronya keys into her attack, sees as the girl begins to dodge the flamberge’s approaching tip, and bites down on her bottom lip at the sword she raises above her head, threatening to drop it down on Byleth’s own neck. And then…

For just a second, Kronya’s eyes flash back. Her pupils reappear, and her irises shrink back to their normal sizes. And in that moment, she makes eye-contact with her, and gives Byleth the softest smile, one that looks so horrendously at odds with who she is, the cocky, deadly assassin, the powerful warrior, the fun-loving asshole…

And then… she dodges ** _into_** Byleth’s sword.

There is the sound of steel carving through flesh, the sound of a horrid gasp of pain, and then an absence of sound, as the world seems to go deathly quiet. 

A moment later, blood begins to drip down onto her shoulder. It runs like rain along her coat, falling in rivulets down onto her leggings. She looks up into Kronya’s smiling, but rapidly paling face with a shellshocked expression.

“Heh…” The girl gives an exhausted laugh. “Thanks for… breaking me out of that.”

“What…” She mutters as she drops her sword on the ground to just barely catch the girl slumping against her in her arms, her insane strength having entirely dissipated. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?”

Blood dribbles from Kronya’s mouth, and now, the gentle smile from before has morphed into a more ‘her’ expression, complete with teeth.

“Don’t lie. I had you there. You wouldn’t have been able… to beat me otherwise. I… could’ve… _should’ve_ dodged that blow…” Kronya looks apologetic. “But… I’d been holding myself back for the entire fight,” Byleth recalls the tails that seemed to want to lash out but hadn’t. “I’d been conserving energy, just enough to give me back my mind for a moment. All… all in the hopes that when you stabbed me through the heart… I’d regain control of myself… that Thales’ spell would hold no control over me any longer.”

Byleth carries the girl over to a nearby rock, one with a flat top that’s just big enough for Kronya to lay atop. She immediately ignites the only healing spell she knows, recover, and sets in on the girls heart.

“You know… its funny… This is just like…” The girl lets out a small, weak laugh as she looks up at her, and pushes herself up into a slightly better position. Byleth tries to hold her down, but the girl won’t have it. “Forget it, Byleth. You don’t have the expertise to fix something like this… Hell, even if you did, I’d still…” She goes quiet. “The only reason I survived that first time was because my heart was still intact.”

Her eyes widen to what would, under normal circumstances, be comical proportions. She looks down at the wry smile upon Kronya’s face and allows herself to be pulled to a seat, just beside the dying girl.

“You…”

“Surprised?” Kronya asks smarmily. “Yeah. Thales shoved your memories into my head. Said it would make me stronger, probably even let me beat _you,_ knowing all your patterns and shit, basically gave me a crash course in how to fight like a hurricane. Then, he pumped me full of that… blasted Seiros’ blood, which did some nasty ass things to my system.” She gives a coy look at Byleth’s wide eyes. “What, you think that asshole could’ve put me under a control spell without fucking with me first? Hah, ye’ of little faith.”

She is so blown away that she can’t even find it in herself to contemplate the severity of what she’s been told. That Kronya had been fed every ounce of her memories, likely without any of the preparation Thales had given himself …

That her mind is still in one piece is a miracle in and of itself.

A million and a half thoughts occur to her in that moment, that Kronya has seen every little bit and piece of her lifetimes, that she’s seen her triumph over scenarios she should’ve had no chance against, and she’s watched her be defeated a hundred thousand times. A frankly hysterical portion of her mind points out that Kronya has also probably seen those times where she and Sothis had been trying to figure out how they could get… _physically affectionate_ with one another given that the Goddess didn’t really have a physical form.

And she is once again reminded that this girl, with whom she shares an odd sort of kinship, who is perhaps the only person aside from Sothis that can ever truly understand her, is dying.

She remains entirely silent, which seems to clue Kronya in to just how she’s feeling. Well, if the copious amounts of tears pouring down her face haven’t done so already.

“Crying? For me?” She laughs a bit meanly. “Sheesh, losing your little fairy took more out of you than I thought it would’ve.”

She barely manages to stem the flow of her tears enough to speak to her.

“That’s… if you die now, then… then…”

Kronya’s eyes grow sad, though for some reason, Byleth can tell it’s not for herself.

“Yeah… I get it.” She reaches over and begins to rub Byleth’s hand with her fingers, in an oddly gentle display that seems so terribly unlike her. “But… this was the only option. Now… stop crying. I’ve got some shit to say to you, and it’ll be a lot harder if the only responses I’m getting from you are sobs.”

She does as the girl asks, managing to cut off her weeping enough to look up at the girl’s gaze.

“Man… you really are a wreck.” The girl sighs. “Sheesh, what am I going to do with you?”

Kronya must see the confused expression on her face, for she gives a soft laugh as she scooches herself a bit closer.

“I have… a question for you, Byleth Eisner… better half of the Goddess Sothis.”

She gives an expression that she hopes the girl can interpret to mean ‘ask’.

“When’d you go and give up?”

She can feel some small part of her break at those words, a secret concealed within her heart that not even she’d really known about is dredged to the surface. The tattered remains of the box it hides within are covered with grime and dirt, as if having sat there for millennia.

They likely have.

“What… do you mean?” She asks hesitantly.

Kronya clears her throat jokingly, and then has to hold a hand out to prevent Byleth rushing to her aid when she coughs up blood a second later. It is an awful brown in color, as if her normal red blood had been mixed with one a shade of green in color, bringing truth to the girl’s story, and explaining the odd, glowing orange veins that’d run up her whole body.

“Heh… shit… guess now’s not the time for kidding around, anyways.” She looks up. “Let me explain it simply, then. Your goal of saving everyone, the so-called ‘impossible task’ you’ve set up for yourself? Bullshit.”

Byleth comes awfully close to physically recoiling away from the girl at that.

“You always said to yourself, and to your little fairy girlfriend, that your goal was to save them all. To _end this._ And yet… from where I’m sitting, looking at your memories, that’s not what I saw.” Kronya eyes her in a, frankly, hostile way. “I saw a woman coasting. Riding her laurels. Perfectly fine with relaxing while she could’ve been doing more. A woman who seemed to genuinely think, deep down, that she’d _never_ win, despite so much to the contrary, and one who was _content_ with that.”

At that, Byleth feels some offense.

“What are you-”

“Picking up lost items around school?” Kronya asks, and Byleth feels a patch of iciness grow in her chest. “Taking baths while in the Empire, relaxed as could be? Being worried about who’s fucking who in your little entourage? Wasting time by showing off for your students in training? Competing with the other teachers for brownie points? Waiting for events to happen, instead of forcing them to come to you. Tell me, how much of that garbage was required for you to save them?” She deadpans. “Please, I’m curious.”

Byleth tries to get a word in edgewise, but the girl opposite her is on a roll.

“I don’t even think you meant to do it, either.” Kronya stops her before she can have an existential crisis. “I don’t think you even realized what you were doing, why you couldn’t manage to claim victory. It wasn’t like you didn’t try, you simply… didn’t win. Over and over and over and over… and yet, you never questioned why.” Kronya looks her in the eye, fully serious, even past her paling features, and her weakening voice. “You’re the strongest warrior on the continent, combined with a literal goddess of time, aided by some of the most influential figures in Fódlan, and with a year to bend them to your whims… and you somehow still managed to fail at the measly job of saving them all?” She laughs, as if ridiculing the very thought. “Hell, you could save the world at the drop of a hat, it was child’s play to you, but keeping thirty or so people alive was the hardest thing?”

She breaks eye-contact herself, gazing down at the blackened rocks below her with a stunned expression.

“It… was more difficult tha–”

“Bull. shit.” Kronya cuts her off. “And you know it. Tell me, how often do you _have_ to use your little Divine pulses? Huh? Not for an inside joke between you and your little butt buddy, or because you were worried about stupid jinxes or whatever hanging over your head, or because a prank went wrong, and the recipient was out for vengeance. I mean **_have_** to use them, like when someone died. Once, _maybe_ twice, if at all, per month?” She scoffs again. “You’re telling me the other eleven on those days, and the _twelve_ on every other, can’t go to use elsewhere? You’re telling me that you did your honest to goddess best for six thousand years, with eleven chances a day, _at least_ , to completely redo everything, and it still wasn’t enough?”

Byleth cannot come up with a response. She sits back down on the rock just beside Kronya, and resolves to simply be silent, to let the girl finish speaking.

“I understand why you did it… it would be hard not to, when I know virtually everything about you. After all, your memories of Dimitri, the love you had for him, were just about the only thing that kept me from cleaving him in half earlier. Every time I’d go to strike him, a memory would flash through my brain, and it’d be enough for me to stay my hand. But… I’m getting off topic.” Kronya turns to her with a tiny smile, flinching slightly as a flash of pain echoes across her features. “It’s not that you _couldn’t_ save everyone… it’s that you didn’t want to. You refused to move past this period of your life. You didn’t want to win… because you knew winning would mean one day having to let them all go.”

The muck-covered box opens, and her weathered heart spills out of it. It claims to be unbroken, unaffected, but Byleth can see the cracks in its armor, can see the way it buckles under the weight of Kronya’s words.

“I mean, I can see why. Those kids? They’re the greatest. Every single time in your memories they’d still somehow find a way to surprise you, even after all that time with them.” She gives a snort of laughter. “‘Only you can save them’, Didn’t you say that to yourself at some point? Heh… what a joke. It’s always been them saving themselves, and you along for the ride, hasn’t it? You underestimated them so constantly, prevented yourself from believing in them so that you wouldn’t have to face the truth that with just a little effort, just a change here or there, they could save themselves.”

Kronya’s expression becomes a bit depressive.

“I mean really, all you had to do was push Dimitri towards Edelgard, and they did the rest. Acting as if you had anything to do with that… How ridiculous. Even in the lifetime before this one, with Bernadetta dying on that platform, couldn’t you have saved her by rewinding and charging straight for her, taking her off of it? You claimed it was because Edelgard would still be the same person, the kind of person to sacrifice her allies for the greater good, but why couldn’t you have simply changed her mind _after_ you’d won the war?”

“I… I wanted them to be as good as they could be!”

“Did you?” Kronya asks with a scowl. “Is that really what you wanted, or, more likely, was it that that ‘problem’ gave you the perfect excuse to never have to move forward? I mean, think about it. You had Claude and Dimitri allied and on your side, didn’t you? A force that dwarfed the Empire’s, goddess, you’d have to be _trying_ to lose from that position… or more likely, you’d have to _want_ to lose.”

She stares up at the ceiling, without making a sound, as Kronya lets out a pitiful laugh. She shakes her head, unable to accept the words out of the girl’s mouth.

“That’s…” She tries to find some way to deny it. “If I had lost my way like that, then Sothis would’ve stopped me! She can see my thoughts, she would’ve known…”

She cuts herself off as Kronya shakes her head, looking slightly saddened, as if having to break unfortunate news to a friend.

“Sothis let you do it.”

She physically recoils away from the girls words but can do nothing to stop the next one’s from coming.

“She knew what you were planning on doing, she knew that she would be stuck in an eternally recurring loop… And yet even still, if it meant you’d be happy, she was entirely fine with letting you spend eternity with them all… With you lying to yourself for the rest of time, even if said time would never come.”

Byleth is unable to fathom that.

“Why… would she…”

Kronya gives a ‘tsk’ in annoyance.

“Why would she do it?” She scoffs, as if shocked Byleth could be this stupid. “Because she loves you, you idiot! How is that so hard to understand?” The words root her in place. “Because she _wants_ to spend eternity with _you, too_! Regardless of what that might mean! Gods, I don’t even have _all of_ _her_ memories and it’s the most obvious thing in the world!”

She takes a moment to process her thoughts, before really keying into the girls words.

“All… Of her memories?” She sits up, trying to get a good look into the girl’s eyes. “Wait, you have some of her memories?”

Kronya nods.

“Not sure how or why, but yeah, I do. Might have had something to do with the connection you two share, given that you’re kind of the same person. You existed within the same headspace, with her entirely reliant on you to move around. In return, she powered your body for a good 6000 years, she’s bound to have left an imprint somewhere along the line, right?”

“She… Knew about that? The powering my body thing?”

Kronya smirks as just a bit of blood dribbles down her chin.

“She’s the goddess. She knows quite a bit more than even you give her credit for.”

She feels utterly bereft of anything to say, of any response. The fact that Sothis had loved her so much that she decided to let her exist in the sweet purgatory she’d chosen for herself…

A question burns at the forefront of her mind.

“Why?” She asks Kronya in place of Sothis. “Why didn’t she just tell me!?”

“She did try to tell you.”

The words shock her, and she turns to see a melancholy expression on Kronya’s face.

“She tried to tell you how she felt. Gently. Never overtly… Never directly, but… she wanted to ease you into it, not to force you.” Kronya looks at her a bit sadly. “I’m sure if you tried to remember… you’d understand what I’m getting at.”

In that moment, it is as if memories that had previously held very little meaning suddenly came to the forefront of her mind. They stick out like sore thumbs now that she knows what she’s looking for, and it’s all she can do to keep from being sick as they play in her head.

The first in this lifetime is from just after they’d retrieved Flayn and Kronya from the dungeons beneath Garreg Mach.

_“Mm.” Sothis agrees, walking a little closer and leaning against her. As usual, she can’t feel the contact, but she appreciates the intimacy. “This life. We’ll do it this life.”_

_Byleth smirks amusedly._

_“I don’t know about that, but sure.”_

_Sothis stiffens for a moment, something weighing her down momentarily, but she otherwise continues walking._

Another memory plays immediately after the last, this time from after their battle at Gronder Field.

_“Long day…” She murmurs quietly, shivering slightly from the cold and feeling sleep begin to hit her. “Even still… we’re getting closer.”_

_“Mhm.” Sothis hums into her chest. “This is it. We can finally be done with all of this.”_

_A small twinge hits her heart, likely the very thought that they could one day be done with all of this too much for her to believe._

_That had to be it._

_“What’ll we even do once we finish?” Sothis asks, looking up at her. “You ever thought about that?”_

_She ponders for a moment, even as her eyes glaze over._

_“Hmm… I can’t remember…” Her voice is practically a whisper._

_Sothis must notice her utter exhaustion, for she breathes out a laugh as she looks up into her steady shutting eyes._

_“Would you like to think about this tomorrow, perhaps?” Sothis teases._

_“Mhmm…” She moans out rather tiredly in agreement._

_Sothis giggles._

_“Goodnight, then.”_

_“Goo’night…” She murmurs as her eyes close entirely. “Lub woo…”_

_She’s asleep within another second._

But strangely, the memory continues. She must’ve still been half asleep at the time. That, or some of Sothis’s memories are leaking into her head, too.

_She misses, however, the way Sothis’ eyes scrunch up, and how she buries her face in Byleth’s chest, a look of concern etched onto her face._

_“You’ve never thought about it.” Sothis’s voice is quiet. “Never…”_

_Her grip tightens._

_“I would know if you had…”_

The next memory is of the two of them talking right in front of Edelgard’s throne room.

_“Ready?”_

_She looks down at Sothis, who’s just addressed her, and nods._

_“Good.” Her patron goddess smiles at her. “Go. This… is the beginning of the end.”_

And finally, the last memory if of her speaking with the classes at the final hall meeting.

_“And so… your goal became to save all of us?” Ashe asks, looking almost… touched. “And such a thing is so difficult, that even after what… thousands of lifetimes, you’ve still been unable to achieve it?”_

_“Yeah…” Byleth gives a small, sad laugh. “I… if I were to not interfere with things at all, then… a good half of you would die by the end of the war.”_

_Multiple faces go pale at that, including Ashe’s himself._

_“I just… always thought you were so strong and everything…” Ashe tapers off, looking embarrassed. Catherine claps him on the back, a subtle show of reinforcement that allows him to keep talking, albeit with a red face. “You seemed to have all the answers… I just… if anyone can do it, Professor, then it’s you.”_

_Those words lift her ever so slightly out of her chair, not literally, since Mercedes has tied her to it to prevent her pulling another stunt, but they make her chest feel lighter, and the pain in her body dissipate._

_It also makes her soul feel heavier, though she’s not sure why that would be._

_“I… thank you, Ashe.”_

Her eyes bug out, and her breathing quickens. She feels like her heart is breaking into a million little pieces, she feels like she just wants to lay down and die quietly, without making a sound.

“Sothis… She…” Byleth grips at her hair, pulling at it so that the pain that results will be enough to keep her present. “She wanted me to…”

Kronya’s visage seems to suggest that she feels only pity for Byleth.

“Yeah. But, well, I think… Being immortal and all… She didn’t particularly care if you just wanted to waste away a couple thousand years of eternity. I don’t want you to think that she was terribly broken up about this, or anything. At the same time, however… I think it’s important that you realize that this isn’t nothing, either.”

Byleth nods her head up and down, still too caught up in Kronya’s words to really take stock of anything else.

Suddenly, a horrid pain erupts from within her skull. It is if nature itself, the laws of the world, are rebelling against something. She’s not sure why she’s receiving so much feedback because of it, but at the same time, she also has a terrible feeling.

“You understand… What’s happening, right?” Kronya asks her.

She isn’t quite sure why, but yeah, she does understand. There has been some sort of disturbance in the very magics that bind the world together, and for some reason…

She knows it has something to do with Sothis.

“Do you… Know what’s going on, Kronya?” She asks the girl hesitantly, not even sure if she really wants an answer. “Just now… It felt like…”

Kronya’s look seems to confirm her worst nightmare.

“You’re acting awfully surprised for someone who saw this coming.” Kronya manages to eke out past the obvious pain in her face. “You could tell earlier, right? That something had gone wrong, that they were doing something with Sothis, right?”

Another memory hits her at Kronya’s words.

_“Still…” Hanneman strokes his now slightly wilder moustache. “I can’t help wondering what it is you’d need this for. Only you would be able to utilize the crest itself, wouldn’t you?”_

_“That’s the idea.” Byleth says, her eyebrows drawn down in doubt. “But I just have a… feeling.” She looks at him and shrugs. “Can’t really explain it. Call it intuition or something._

She flashes back to reality just as Kronya lets out a gasp of pain. She holds out her hand once more to stop Byleth from hovering over her worriedly.

“Worry about Sothis first. I’m… I’m beyond help.” The girl shakes her head. “But… Before I… I have a request.”

She looks down at Kronya with a dreadful despair.

“… Anything.”

The Agarthan warrior gives the tiniest little smile.

“Make this… the end of it. Even once you get Sothis back, don’t… don’t rewind back to the beginning just to save little old me.” She asks, reaching over and taking Byleth’s hand. “Through your memories of them, I’ve learned to love each and every one of those little brats as you do. It’s… an odd feeling, but… I think we both know what you need to do.”

Byleth tries to ignore the sickness in her chest as she makes eye contact with the dying girl.

“Let go of them.” She stresses, and yet somehow, against all odds, she still manages to sound almost gentle as she runs her thumb along Byleth’s knuckles. “Let _them_ move on. Give them a chance to live their lives. It’s not fair to trap them in these six years for all eternity because you can’t get over the fact that one day you’ll have to watch them die.”

She can’t help letting out a small sob at that.

“I know this must be the hardest thing anyone’s ever asked of you…” Kronya laughs just a bit sadly. “But at the same time… Isn’t it time for _you_ to move on as well? What does life hold for Byleth Eisner, strongest warrior in Fódlan? …I think it’s about time that you found out.”

She hesitates for a moment as the weight of those words settles in the back of her head. Her mouth opens to answer, and yet at first no sound emerges. Kronya’s expression is almost reassuring… and combined with her slowly rubbing along the back of her hand, the girl seems to be telling her to take as long as she needs.

There’s something about that expression that allows her to speak the words she’s perhaps always needed to.

“I… I will.”

The look upon Kronya’s face at that is one of peace. She almost seems to sink into the stone beneath her, as if finally allowing her body to relax. Byleth does the same, lying next to her, resolving to be there for the girl’s final moments.

“That’s… That’s good.” Kronya looks up at the rocky ceiling above them and smiles almost nostalgically. “Heh… it’s funny… this is… just like that time in the snow… all those lifetimes ago, although I guess our roles are reversed this time.”

She turns look at the girl beside her with a stunned expression.

“You… Remember that?”

“I remember… as if I, or, well, _current I,_ had been there, except as you.” Her eyes glaze over, and Byleth can tell she’s caught in reminiscence. “I… you thought so highly of me, and… and I can tell that I… Or, well, _old I_ , thought the same…”

Kronya gives a small laugh, even as she coughs blood onto her torso. Byleth can tell from experience, from having gone through what Kronya’s going through now, that the girl has a minute, at best.

“You were both… So reserved, it’s almost a little annoying playing back that memory.” Kronya’s eyes begin to close, and tears once more begin to build in Byleth’s own. “I know you… and Sothis are… a thing now… but… I’m going to say… what she was too much of a coward to… back then…”

Kronya’s voice is so horribly weak as she pants out, trying to breathe through the pain of her entire system shutting down. Byleth crawls across the stone to where the girl lays, and hovers over her, in an effort to hear her final words.

“you guys… Traveled the world together. You fought army’s side by side, you slew tyrants, and villains, and warriors of old. And even still, to the very end, you were both so stubborn with your feelings, even on your deathbed.” The Agarthan shakes her head, as if slightly amused about that, despite everything. “So, I think I’ll just say what… What she wanted to say… but was too afraid to…”

Byleth hangs on the girls words, despite being pretty sure she knows exactly what she’s about to say.

“The Kronya… from back then?” She remarks, closing her eyes as her lips barely move. “She wanted to say… That she… loved… y…” 

Kronya breathes her last with a soft smile etched forever onto her features.

\-----

_Kronya fell back in the snow beside him, having finished her description of Athame’s disenchantment. Frost entirely covered his eyelashes now, preventing him from seeing anything other than the soft white of the icy crystals._

_“Thank you.” He said with a large majority of the strength he still possessed. “I’ll… I’ll make good use of that.”_

_He could barely hear Kronya laugh, only managing to pick it up on the edge of his hearing._

_“You’d better.” She joked. “If after all that talking, you said it was useless, I’d have killed you myself.”_

_He felt his lips turn upwards._

_“Wouldn’t have been very hard.”_

_Kronya went quiet._

_“No… I suppose it wouldn’t have been.”_

_There was a pause as the two of them let the previous exchange settle, though Kronya didn’t allow it to be particularly long, knowing how little time he had left._

_“So… When you go back… All of us here will simply cease to exist?”_

_“I believe that to be the case.” He muttered. “I wouldn’t really know, given that I don’t exactly stick around. As far as I know, yes, the world resets back to how it was six years ago, and I wake up in my father’s tent, about to meet the three lord’s.”_

_He couldn’t see Kronya, but he could tell by her silence that she was thinking rather heavily about something._

_“So, you simply return to being who you were back then?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“But then… those versions of the people you once knew… Might as well be dead.” There was some sadness in the girls’ voice that he could not quite decipher. “You’ll never meet them again, hell, even if you do die one day… I imagine you won’t even be able to see them then, either.”_

_He didn’t have the energy to say a thing._

_“You… You won’t be able to see me again.”_

_Those words hurt him in an indescribable way._

_“Then I guess… That means, by proxy… these are **my** final words as well.”_

_He wondered what it was like to know that even though you hadn’t died, your life would soon cease. He also found himself wondering what exactly the girl would say to him, if this was it. From the sound coming from off to his left, it seemed like the girl was sitting up in the snow._

_“Byleth… I…” Kronya’s voice, in a way that was entirely unlike her, seemed to find itself caught in her throat. “I…”_

_And then, as if nothing had happened, she sunk right back down into the cold whiteness, letting out a small, pitiful laugh._

_“Forgive me, Byleth…” She murmured sadly. “I suppose I’m just too much of a coward.”_

_Even as his dying mind finally abandoned him, and he saw Sothis’s light glowing in the distance, his thoughts were entirely on the girl beside him._

_That she couldn’t say what she felt… That was fine…_

_He knew what she meant._

_He…_

_Found he felt the same way._

_And as his lungs froze over, he used all his remaining strength to breath those final words of affirmation into the cold, winter air, to say her feelings were shared._

_And then time began anew._

\-----

She’s still a mess by the time she finds her way out of the rocky caverns that’d held her and her rival’s final duel, and back into the main hollow of Shambhala.

Strapped to her hip are two blades. The first, given to her by Rhea, is the Sword of Seiros. It isn’t in the best of shape, having taken blows that would’ve shattered an iron or steel blade of its type, but it’s holding together, still more than usable in the battles to come.

The second is a far more imposing weapon. It is a curved dagger, enchanted with the power to strip the divine of their lives.

With her, however, Athame seems to glow just a bit dimmer than it had in its master’s hands.

On her back is Seiros’ shield, strung along in multiple pieces and held together by a rope. In its current state, it’ll do nothing for, but perhaps she’s feeling sentimental, for she’s brought it along, nonetheless.

And in her arms is the broken form of Kronya, her arms folded atop her chest, Byleth’s left arm curled underneath the girls thighs, and her head tucked into the crook of Byleth’s neck. The smile on her face is still as serene as it’d been the moment she’d passed, having made her peace with the world.

Byleth tries to ignore the way her cheeks and eyes are stained with tears, and how they continue to fall upon her face even as she walks towards the sounds of combat.

She hears more than sees the moment she’s spotted.

Several people yell out, and without much time to prepare, she’s beset by a multitude of Agarthan warriors.

She feels she should be worried about this under normal circumstances, but somehow, even as they charge her, bloodlust, and rage all that’s contained in their gazes, she can’t help feeling overwhelmingly disgusted by their appearances.

_“How many…?”_

She jukes away from them, not even bothering to set Kronya down, or draw either of the blades hanging from her waist. A magical spell flies overhead, just as a lance whizzes by just off to her left.

_“How many of these people could have been just like Kronya?”_

She ponders this as she dodges under another strike.

She knows it is too late for them now. The people here have been entirely indoctrinated, and none of the lords have the time or the ability to fix this many of them. It would likely take years and years of therapy for every single one, let alone somehow keeping them non-hostile the entire time, to fix their ideals. It might even be longer than that, given that each of them had likely been raised from birth to revile their very beings. It is simply not feasible to think they could help the people here.

And yet it feels so terribly unfair to simply kill them all regardless, even if she knows that’s likely their only option.

Another Agarthan warrior makes to chop at her head, but before he can complete the swing, an arrow has been fired into the back of his skull. He slumps forward without a word, presumably dying before he hits the ground. The Mage, who’s been firing potshots at her from farther away is sniped second, but this time by a dark spell, knocking them backwards into a nearby wall, which they fall down a second later, dead.

She silently mourns the lives who never had a chance to truly live as the remaining couple of warriors are taken out by her reinforcements. When the last is cut down by a blond spearman, she finally allows herself a moment’s relaxation.

“Hey, everyone.” She speaks sedately, the smile on her face never quite reaching her eyes. “Thanks for the save.”

No one says a thing to her at first beyond the relieved sighs that she’s alright. However, most are staring down at the girl in her arms and seeming to note that she is entirely inanimate. It’s Dimitri who speaks first.

“I’m sorry, Professor.” He speaks. “I know the two of you had some sort of bond…” he lets out a worldly sigh. “I never got a chance to thank her for saving us back at the capitol. That we couldn’t save her in return, I…”

Beyond Edelgard, none of the other students seem to really understand why she feels so strongly about Kronya’s death, though it’s not like she blames them for that, given that their only real experience with the woman had been her and Byleth squaring off on multiple occasions. It would’ve been difficult to make a good impression.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Professor,” Dimitris voice is quiet, cautious as he takes a step forward. “What do you plan on doing with her body?”

She hadn’t even thought about that, if Byleth’s being honest. It had simply seemed like too horrible a fate to leave the girl in the dreary caverns below. Anything past that… She hadn’t much considered.

“I… I don’t know.” She admits. “I suppose… I can’t be carrying her into battle, can I?”

No one says anything, but she can tell from the looks on their faces that they all agree with her.

“Mercedes…” she turns to the girl. “Would you guys be able to…”

The melancholy on the girl’s face as she steps towards Byleth, places her hands where her own are, and gently lifts Kronya from out of her arms is palpable. It is enough for her to almost begin to cry once more, but she just barely manages to stave off that horrid feeling behind her eyes.

The moment she’s gone, Dimitris steps towards her, and wraps his arms around her body, tightly hugging her against him. She’s not sure why that action is enough to cause her eyes to begin to well up once more, but she curses the boy’s name as she returns the hug herself, burying her face in his chest.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around?” She jokes through her tears. “I thought… I was supposed to be the one comforting all of you…” She shakes her head, just another example of the truth behind Kronya’s words peeking through to her. “When did you all get so strong, huh?”

The rest of the band, from the Black Eagles, to the Golden Deer, to the Blue Lions, all give her reassuring smiles, and some even go so far as to join the hug. Byleth allows her tears to flow freely in the arms of her comrades, sobbing rather loudly as the loss of Kronya really hits her.

She knows the answer to her question already, even without any of them having to say it.

They’ve always been this strong.

\-----

Thales’s ‘throne room’, if one even wants to call it that, is a winding and complicated maze of metallurgy and machinery. The advanced technology of the Agarthan’s is on full display within it, though there is one notable absence from the room.

Thales himself is missing.

She instructs her students to inspect the room at multiple points, trying to see if the man is hiding from them, as unlikely as that is. When they report back that they’ve found nothing, she’s not even remotely surprised.

She at least knows where he is now.

She leads them into the depths of Shambala, into the laboratories beneath, and to a rather specific spot. 

Seeing the coffin before her is enough to send chills down her spine.

“Professor?” Ashe speaks up. “What is this, exactly?”

She lets out a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm.

“This is the cask of the King of Liberation.” Several other students gasp at the revelation. “and as you may have noticed…”

“It’s empty.” Edelgard flinches.

They make their way into the laboratory just beyond within a minute or two more of walking and come face to face with the leader of the Agarthans.

“Ah, so you’ve arrived.” Thales turns back towards them, holding a tool in his hand that to Byleth looks an awful lot like the one he’d used to pull Sothis’s crest stone from her heart. “I’m afraid you’re just a tad too late.” He gestures to a reinforced steel coffin at the back of the room. “I’ve already completed our masterpiece; you won’t be able to stop it now.”

Before Byleth’s even made a move, Edelgard has stepped forward, and draws Aymr from off of her back. She holds it aloft just in front of her, at the same time as she signals Dimitri to stand back.

“I have this.” She says simply.

Thales smirks as he seems to acquiesce to the girls proclamation of a duel. He draws a spell into his left hand and begins pacing opposite to her, the two winding around the room in a circle.

“Planning to bite the hand that feeds you, Edelgard?” Thales asks with an evil grin. “Even after I gave you everything you needed to conquer Fódlan?”

If Edelgard is at all affected by the man’s biting remarks, then she doesn’t show it. Instead, she merely flips her axe, and smiles herself.

“The only things you gave me, Thales, were pain and suffering. You gave me no power that I did not already possess, and you stripped me of too many things that I will never be able to get back.”

“The crest of flames is nothing? I had not realized; you’ll have to forgive me.”

“It is nothing compared to what you took in exchange.” She speaks as she seems to ready herself for battle. “And now… Now I will give all of it back and then some. I’m done speaking with you. The only words I wish to hear from your mouth now are your cries for mercy before I chop your sniveling head from your spine.”

Thales seems to agree that the time for talk has ended, and there is a potent silence that hangs in the air for a few moments. Just as Byleth thinks neither will make the first move, Edelgard has charged forward, brandishing Aymr and using its special ability. She seems to blink across the field of battle, and before Thales can manage to fire off the spell in his raised right hand, the limb has already been cleaved from his body. It hits the back wall with a sickening squelch as the man lets out a screen of pain.

Without missing a beat, Edelgard rounds back on the man, and sinks the blade of her mighty axe into the left side of his back.

“I do believe it’s over.” Edelgard speaks, any semblance of pity missing from her features. “I thought of torturing you for days on end once upon a time, but no. That would be giving too much stock to your ambitions, making all of you seem so very important, instead of rightfully proclaiming you as the scum you are. So, I think I’ll be rid of you here. Anything to say before I cut into your spine?”

Far from being upset about his oncoming death, Thales gives a shrill laugh.

“You’re still… Too late…” he gasps, panting horribly as he lets out a maniacal laugh. “you cannot stop him now. He’s been given powers beyond any of you. He… He will avenge us, no, not avenge.”

Thales turns his head to look right in Byleth’s eyes.

“Through the power of the Fell Star… This world shall be reborn as it should've always been!”

And then a second later, the man’s body begins to glow a deep purple. She shouts for Edelgard to get clear, and luckily the girl manages to hear her, jumping back and away from Thales just before his body explodes.

Shards of whatever dark magic he’d used to kill himself stain the metal floors beneath them and block their view with a cloud of residue. She pants as the day’s events begin to get to her, but they’re far from out of the woods yet.

“Edelgard, you alright?” she calls out into the cloud.

The girl’s hand pierces through the smoke a second later, and she emerges entirely uninjured, bar some small scratches on her hands and face. Dimitri immediately rushes over to her, and sighs in relief as he sees she’s alright.

But things cannot be that easy; she already knows that.

The ground around them shakes; no, it is more accurate to say that Shambala itself is shaking. 

Someone is shaking it.

The coffin at the back of the room suddenly lurches, and a hand emerges from the top right corner. With an inhuman strength, the metal is sheared away like foil, and a warrior cloaked in black mist emerges from out of it.

Nemesis looks nothing like how he normally does.

All over his body are enhancements, on his shoulders, along his thighs, protruding from his chest, and wrapped around his face like armor. They are seemingly made from metal and black magic, and they give the already intimidating man an aura of absolute terror. Running through his body, staking their paths up his arms and legs, are his veins. But they glow a verdant green even through his skin, and she swears as she realizes her theory had been correct.

Running through his veins is the blood of Seiros.

There would be no reason to give such a thing to him normally. It would serve no purpose beyond making Nemesis glow an iridescent green, perhaps giving him slightly more power like it had to Kronya. It would normally act as almost a disadvantage, making it far easier to see him, to pick him out of a crowd. But Thales, as much as she despises him, is no idiot.

He has done this for a reason. Not for the small power boost it had given to Kronya, no, this is for an entirely different purpose.

Suddenly, her head aches with a familiar feeling. It is a lot like when she tries to utilize a Divine Pulse past when she’s out of them, tries to pull more gas from an empty tank. The feeling of the powers of Sothis almost asking her a question.

A dark wind seems to fill the room around them. It emerges from out of Nemesis’s body like a plague, and she can tell there’s something in it that spells darkness for them all. Especially for her, for as the wind hits Byleth, she can feel her very life force being eaten away at, her mother’s flame dimming. She knows without really knowing that she now has less than a day to live.

_“Can’t hold… for long…”_

And yet, despite everything else she’s going through, her eyes widen to an incomprehensible degree at the sound of _her_ voice. She finds her heart, or perhaps the flame inside it, stills at the sound, and an overwhelming sense of… _Something_ hits her. It is a mix of joy and guilt and sorrow and hope and a million other little things, most of which she can’t quite pick out. What shocks her the most, however…

Is that everyone else’s eyes have gone wide as well.

“Professor!” Rhea screams, looking to her with equally wide eyes as her own. “Was that…!?”

_“You have to… stop him”_

The voice sounds out again, and this time, ready for it, Rhea seems to be able to identify it. Tears run down her face as her lip quivers.

“Mother…?”

Edelgard looks conflicted, as do several others. The actual voice of the goddess, to hear it sound out in their heads, but alone hearing her sound like a child, must be confusing enough… but being face-to-face with a figure from legend must be its own sort of whiplash as well.

As Nemesis takes is first step out of the coffin, Sothis’s voice rings out again.

 _“If you don’t… he’ll use my power_ … _and reset to the end of **his lifetime** … to twelve hundred years ago. He’ll… use my strength_… _to defeat Seiros at Tailtean Plains…”_

Byleth’s and Rhea’s eyes once more go wide, but this time both of them are white as a sheet.

_“…And thereby erase all of you from existence.”_

Claude clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“So… This is the master plan of the Agarthans? To win not this war, but the very first.” He curses under his breath. “Shit.”

Byleth herself can’t quite begrudge the man for losing his cool. She’s feeling much the same.

However, before she can fall to hopelessness and despair, someone has placed their hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Dimitri and Edelgard looking directly at Nemesis, the expressions on their faces entirely clear.

“Well, Professor,” Dimitri speaks, turning back towards her and offering a confident smile. “Seems like there’s only really one thing left to do…”

Her eyes widen as Hanneman approaches her from the main group, and hands her the device that he and his unit had spent a good five days working tirelessly on finishing. It is weighty and unwieldy in her hand.

“Let’s go get her back.” Edelgard speaks, turning and smiling over at her. “Let’s end this.”

And yet she’s not sure why… But as she looks back up at Nemesis, the strength of the people behind her seems to flow into her body.

 _“Please…”_ Sothis’ voice rings out once more, and Byleth can see how a few of the more religious members of the monastery hang their heads reverently at the sound of it. _“All of you…”_

Even as Nemesis’s reaches back into his coffin and pulls out a dark copy of the Sword of the Creator, Byleth feels no fear.

How could she?

She’s surrounded by the strongest warriors on the continent.

Flanked on all sides by the very best.

“Everyone!” She shouts with a strength unbecoming her half-broken body. “This is it!”

The soldiers around her form up, spearman, bowman, axman, and swordsman, along with mages and riders and all manner of others.

“This is our final battle, our final opponent.” She finds herself smiling. “Six years ago, most of us met each other for the first time.” She sees some, namely those who didn’t; Ignatz and Raphael; Mercedes and Emile; Edelgard and Dimitri; look to each other at her words. “We might not have known what to make of one another at first, but as our first year stretched by, we found we had become fast friends. Though circumstances conspired to keep us apart,” Edelgard briefly hides her face, before she’s elbowed in the side by Dimitri himself, a playful but encouraging look on his face that shows no hint of blame. “We found our way back to one another. Now… Here we are, at the end of our journey.”

Her soldiers look to her with smiles all around. They seem to hang on her every word, waiting for her to finish her speech.

“Now, we’re going to bring down a legend from twelve hundred years ago. We’re going to stop the plans of the Agarthans, and we’re going to stop this world from being erased from existence!”

The men and women of her forces cheer, and she finds herself riled up as she turns to face Nemesis once more.

 _“Byleth… everyone…”_ Sothis’s voice rings out with a finality that echoes the seriousness of their situation. _“Be careful… but… above all else…”_

Several people gulp, and she realizes that if they’re overly nervous, they could be defeated by things they would normally stave off.

So… she decides there’s only one thing to do.

“Oh! One more thing!”

Everyone looks a bit surprised as they turn back to her, though those members of her class who know her best can already tell what she’s about to do, for they groan in abject annoyance as they turn away from her.

“We’re going to save my _wife_ as well!”

Several people laugh at that line, and it’s just the amount of levity that had been needed to cause those horribly nervous ones, stiff, and anxious, to loosen up ever so slightly.

“I had not realized you’d proposed, Professor,” Rhea looks to her with her eyebrows drawn down. “I… Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Could we do this later!?” Felix turns to her with annoyance in his eyes. “Honestly, you and Sylvain both are so damned annoying.”

Sylvain himself laughs at that, elbowing Ingrid just beside him, and causing the girl herself to roll her eyes.

“I think it’s cute.” Flayn says, walking next to the black-haired swordsman, and giving him a small grin. “You’re such a sourpuss sometimes, Felix.”

Felix looks positively abashed at that, and he grumbles under his breath as he turns back towards the oncoming Nemesis.

“Well, then,” Dimitri speaks, pointing his spear forward. “Blue Lions!”

Edelgard does the same, holding her axe aloft. “Black Eagles!”

Claude shakes his head amusedly but follows suit. “Golden Deer!”

Rhea takes a step forward, smiling serenely as she does so. “Members of the Church!”

She herself looks to the blade on her waist, with a small, sad smile.

“Don’t worry, Kronya.” She speaks to the departed woman as she draws Athame from off of her hip, and into her main hand.

 _“Above all else…”_ Sothis’s voice rings out in all of their heads one final time.

“We won’t be defeated.” She assures her. “Not here.”

_“Win! Save this world!”_

And the four Lords screamed.

“FOR FÓDLAN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanneman at the beginning of the chapter is just me when I finished this after a month.
> 
> I'm so sorry this chapter took so damned long to come out! I had really intended it to be updated before... well, before a month had passed.
> 
> I failed, so...
> 
> Basically, the scoop is that i finally said that enough was enough with my wrist problems, and I started using a dictation software for writing. This is great, I no longer have constant wrist pain whilst writing. Less good is that my productivity has been slashed in half, and that's highballing it. 
> 
> Basically, chapters will come, just... much slower.
> 
> Only two more, though, so that's good.
> 
> Also, jokes on me for saying none of the rest of my chapters would approach the previous chapter's length. This one is 13,586 words. Shorter... but oh god, at this pace, my epilogue might be approaching 25K...
> 
> Sweet jesus, help me.
> 
> Anyways, jokes aside, thanks for sticking with this fic, next chapter is the final main-line one, and then we move to the epilogue.
> 
> Also, RIP murder-me-Elmo-doll. Taken from us too soon.


	13. Deicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa, play God-Shattering Star.
> 
> ...Y'know, I like Apex of the World and A Funeral of Flowers more, actually.

The only thought that hits Byleth as an explosion opens them up to the outside air is that it’s a rather brisk day.

It’s a rather asinine thing to think, and she gets that, but she’s truly struggling to do anything other than breathe at the moment, so she hopes she can be forgiven for it. She struggles to her feet, panting for breath as she puts one foot in front of the other. To say she’s exhausted is an understatement, but it’s not exactly like she has the choice to just lie down and sleep…

Given their whole Nemesis problem.

She looks around and silently checks to make sure everyone’s alright. They’d seen the explosion coming, and thusly none of them should’ve been caught in it.

She’s more than happy to see that’s mostly correct. Her students have taken some injuries, but none look to be too major. If she’s being honest, she’s taken the worst of it. She’s got some charring along her legs, and a small piece of shrapnel is caught in her chest, but she had been able to pry it free with a little bit of effort, and Mercedes had healed it up fine.

The real problem, of course, are the 10 new figures who’ve entered the battlefield, along with a smattering of (read: around two or so thousand) surviving Agarthans. Nemesis’s revived Elites aren’t exactly easy pickings, but at the same time, they’re a far cry from the strength the man himself boasts.

Luckily, Nemesis is gripping his head, seemingly completely occupied by something Sothis related. She mentally thanks the love of her life for stalling the great beast of a man so that they can take a second to get their bearings.

“Professor!” She hears Dimitri’s voice ring out across the grassy terrain. “What’s our plan here?”

She looks to see that several people are giving her very similar expressions and lets out just the smallest sigh of exasperation. Just once, she thinks without voicing a thing, she’d like for them to take charge when she’s around. 

_“It would make for a nice change of pace.”_ She jokes to herself with a small smile on her face.

“For now, we do the only thing we can do, we take down those ten. They’re acting as a shield, both proverbially and physically, for the King of Liberation himself.”

They nod to her as they take up positions, retaking their previous formation from before Nemesis had nearly blown them all to kingdom come. She finds herself slotting rather simply into the center, and whether by coincidence, or by some odd turn of fate, her location almost directly mirrors Nemesis’ own. 

“There’s nothing more to say. Survive, no matter what.” She says as she raises her twin swords, Seiros’ and Athame, into the air. 

“Survive… and win the day.”

\-----

The battle itself is going so-so, which is to say not as well as Ingrid had hoped, but also not as badly as it could’ve – and perhaps should’ve been – going.

The oncoming forces are rather intimidating, that she cannot deny. They seem almost zombie-like in their determination to push forward, to break into their lines and kill them all. Ingrid, for her part, won’t allow that. There are people in that line she cares greatly about, hell, one of them is right beside her, his spear piercing through the breast of an Agarthan warrior.

As they push through, Sylvain looks to her and shoots her a cocky smile, one which she returns with a groan and a shake of her head. They’ve fought beside each other so often in this war that she finds herself able to read his movements with nary a thought. They are in perfect sync, and their units, cavalry and pegasi, work in tandem together as well, covering each other’s backs.

They had been gutted in Embarr a few months back, and it had been one of the hardest moments of her entire life to have to escape the city without being able to inspect the bodies of her soldiers, to not be able to save any that might have still been alive…

To have to leave them behind.

It had been Sylvain, he himself having gone through the same thing, who had been by her side during that time, and she had done the same for him. They’d comforted one another through the Professor’s apparent death as well, and the rapidly failing negotiations between the four armies of Garreg Mach.

Even still, those who had remained from their respective units had stayed close as well. They, like Ingrid and Sylvain themselves, had known it would be a mockery of the fallen to give up on what they’d been fighting for.

She’s brought back to the battle as a lance nearly pierces itself through Sylvain’s breastplate. The shape of the metal is just enough to deflect the blow, but unfortunately, all that does is angle the tip of the shaft downwards, and into his horses back.

That beast lets out a terrible whinny as it bucks Sylvain off its back and sends the boy flying. Her heart leaps into her throat as he hits the ground and screams in pain. If she’s right, and she desperately hopes she’s not, then he’s likely broken some part of his left arm, which he’d used to catch himself, lest his head had hit the ground first.

The warrior who’d knocked him off stands above him, atop a spectral steed. The both of them, man, and beast alike, glow with an inhuman energy.

One of Nemesis’ ten elites. One of the ten they had to kill to go after the King of Liberation himself.

She feels a primal, wretched fear grab hold of her heart as she watches Sylvain try and limp away with one arm, watches as the man draws his lance into a position to attack the young man below him… And feels something within her click into place.

_“She’s your fiancé now, Glenn. That means, above all, you keep her safe. You hear me?”_

She is moving before she even realizes what’s happening; before her brain can even comprehend why **_that_** memory has chosen to play itself in her head at that very moment. She disregards it, for it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters…

Is that she will stop the bastard who thinks he can rip her happiness away from her. She won’t allow anyone else to die without being able to do a thing to help them.

Not again.

She…

Is a knight.

She will protect the people she loves.

The clang of his weapon against hers creates the oddest sound, one she is certain she has not heard in all her life. She realizes why as she takes a closer look at his weapon, and notices that it is made up not of steel, but of bone, same as her own.

A dark copy of the Lance of Ruin stares back at her.

She hears Sylvain give a tiny gasp at her arrival and feels just the smallest bit of strength reinforcing her muscles. She understands why Glenn had looked to her as he had back then, understands what that odd expression on his face had meant.

Sure, it had been embarrassing for Rodrigue to say all that… For him to call out his son in front of his fiancée…

But at the same time…

He had still cared too much for her to not show her the truth in those words.

She flips Lúin around and manages to score a decently sized gash in the breastplate of the warrior before her. It is not a fatal wound, but it will be enough to slow him down so that she can break off from him and steer her Pegasus back towards Sylvain.

She does not even stop as she picks him up and hauls him up onto the back of her Pegasus. The beast lets out a small whinny of indignation, likely less than pleased about having a man on its back, but she knows it will not do anything too rash as long as she’s there.

“Ingrid, you…” She hears Sylvain’s voice tickle the back of her neck, him having gotten rather close so that she can hear him even whilst flying in the air.

“Hang onto me.” She turns to him when she has a moment, her eyes completely serious as she locks them against his own. “Whatever you do, _do not_ let go. This may get dicey.”

She feels as his arms wrap around her waist, and as he pulls himself a bit closer to her, hanging on as tightly as he can.

“Heh…” His voice is as a whisper as she turns her Pegasus back around and aims to do a second pass on the warrior they’ve been fighting. “My hero…”

She shakes her head as she approaches the warrior at breakneck speed, making sure her grip on Lúin is hard.

“No jokes. I’m trying to focus.”

She angles her lance to strike at the man’s body, an effective hit, if an easy one. The man takes her plan in stride, raising his own lance not for her, but towards her Pegasus. While it would not be fatal for her immediately, falling off a moving object at the speed she’s going is as much a death sentence as a spear to the throat.

But she will not falter…

Mostly because she’d been hoping he’d do that.

At the last possible moment, she turns her Pegasus in the air, rolling it so that both she and Sylvain hang upside down on its back. The warriors lance misses…

But hers will not.

She angles Lúin not for the easy shot at his body, but for the blow she’d always been aiming for. 

For his head.

She lets out a yell as, with a single motion, she stabs Lúin forward, right through the armored helmet of one of Nemesis’s ten elites. The man is launched from his horse at a speed most would not survive, but that fact is an awfully moot point…

Given that he’s dead before he hits the ground.

As she pulls away, the first of the Ten Elites having been felled, the young man clinging to her back settles his chin atop her left shoulder, and she can see the tired smile on his face out of the corner of her eye.

“Wasn’t a joke.” Sylvain whispers to her.

She turns to look at him with a small blush adorning her features, and just as she’s about to rebuke him for his comments, she sees a bolt of blinding light headed straight their way. There’s not enough time for her to somehow get her Pegasus to dodge the attack, and so, she does the only thing she can.

She puts herself between it, pushing Sylvain behind her. 

She hears him begin to protest, but in the next moment he goes entirely silent, before letting out a horrid gasp.

She is struck a second later, and feels her consciousness leave her.

\-----

By the time Sylvain’s brain is even ready to process what’s just happened, he finds his hands have already moved to catch Ingrid before she can fall. He barely manages to grab her by the wrist and yank her back atop the Pegasus before she can plummet to her death with his left hand. 

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that the Pegasus has no idea what’s happened and is now currently doing loops in the middle of the sky, trying to interpret Ingrid’s unconscious weight as an instruction of some kind. Sylvain’s seen this kind of behavior before from horses when their riders are killed but manage to get stuck in the gear whilst falling off their mounts. The horse still follows the commands it’s been taught, even if those commands come simply from gravity pulling down on the stirrups.

Added onto that is the horrid pain echoing out from his broken left wrist at hauling her up, a pain that only intensifies as he wraps it around Ingrid’s front, desperately holding onto her so that she doesn’t fall from the animal.

He swears as he pushes himself up against Ingrid’s back, getting as close as he can to the girl without forcing her off the front, and grab the reins. Immediately, the Pegasus lets out a whinny of denial, and spins once in midair, trying to send him hurtling to the ground below.

He swears again, but this time with a lot more fervor behind it.

“Stupid bastard!” He howls as he tries to keep track of both the reins and Ingrid herself. “Are you trying to kill us!?”

Almost on instinct, he pulls the reins back, ignoring the pain that lances up his arm, as he sees a blinding light out of the corner of his left eye, and such an instruction proves to have been correct when a glowing bolt of magic passes right in front of them.

Once again, the Pegasus complains, this time he imagines about having to take orders from him.

“Oh, come on!” He screams, not even trying to hide his anger. “Work with me here! You want to protect your master, don’t you!? Well guess what!? So do I! I want nothing more than to keep her safe!”

He’s almost surprised to find tears stinging at the edges of his eyes at his words.

Almost.

“Please! Don’t you wanna’ help me kill the bastard who hurt her!?”

He’s not sure that the Pegasus truly understands his words, in fact, it’d be awfully weird if it had, but something about his tone, his sincerity, his volume, or just the utter desperation in his voice appears to have carried through, for the creature lets out a whinny that seems to translate roughly to “well, you could’ve just said so”.

And then a moment later, he’s the one controlling the flying.

It is quite unlike anything he’s experienced before, and he finds rather immediately that he does not care for the feeling. He’s too weightless, too… He doesn’t quite know how to describe it. Still, it’s not exactly like he has a choice in the matter. He assumes it’ll be rather similar to riding a horse, and so simply relies on the instincts that he’s honed over the years doing that to help him here.

He finds he’s half right. The left, right, and forward controls are all the same, but, naturally, there’s no real control over up and down when one is steering a horse. That… Would certainly take some getting used to, and right now, he has seconds to grasp the controls well enough to strike down the warrior currently assaulting them with white magics.

He’ll just have to fly on instinct.

He turns left and presses down on the holsters that Ingrid’s feet are both caught in, trying to transition into a downwards plunge. He stumbles slightly when that sends them not down, but up, but quickly adjusts to this newfound information, and this time properly dives towards the ground below.

As he does, the Holy Knight they’ve been fighting channels another spell, and now that he’s got a good look at it, he can tell it’s an ‘Aura’ spell, powerful white magic. However, he notices something else in the knight’s left hand. In it is Lúin, or, at least, a dark reflection of Lúin, the same as the last one had possessed a dark reflection of his own Lance of Ruin.

Which makes the man below him one of the Ten Elites.

He finds a small laugh bubbling up through his lips as he realizes the scenario they’ve found themselves in. The two of them are face to face with each other’s opposite halves. Ingrid had struck down his ancestor, Gautier. Now…

It’s his turn to repay the favor.

He flies a straight course at whom he can only assume is Daphnel, Ingrid’s ancestor from twelve hundred years prior, and watches as the man begins to charge up a spell. At the same time, he grips his own Lance of Ruin, and begins to charge within it its combat art.

“RUINED SKY!” He cries with all the energy in his breast.

A red electricity arcs along the tip of the spear, and he points it directly at the man below him just as he’s about to fire off the Aura in his hands. The lightning passes from his lance and, as all electricity does, seeks the quickest path to the ground it can take.

The man clad entirely in metal is struck by its force, buffeted backwards, and because of this, he accidentally launches his aura not at Sylvain, but at the ground beneath him. The resulting explosion is enough to knock him off of his horse and send him tumbling to the ground.

“I know that feeling, buddy.” He mutters through his teeth.

Daphnel makes to stand, makes to draw another spell into his hand, makes to bring Lúin up in front of him…

But Sylvain is faster.

He dodges just underneath the man’s dark Lúin, quite literally bending backwards atop his unruly steed, along with Ingrid tightly clutched in his left arm, to limbo underneath it, and grunts as he slashes out with the Lance of Ruin. He can feel it connect with the man’s neck, and he puts every ounce of energy in his body into his right arm. With a terrible yell, and a sudden lurch, he severs Daphnel’s head from his spine.

In the next moment, the Pegasus is pulling off the ground again, and he’s about to ask why the thing is flying without any orders when a spell blazes just past where they’d been mere seconds prior.

He’s glad at least one of them had been paying attention.

“Thanks, boy!” He shouts in relief, petting at its mane, then quickly retracts when the beast makes a noise he has not heard before. It does _not_ sound friendly. “Err, girl?” The far more pleased whinny that follows lets him know that his second guess had probably been the more correct of the two, and he decides not to question the fact that the beast speaks English enough to know the difference there. “Then, girl, thanks for your help, but would you mind putting us down as soon as you can? I need to get Ingrid to a medic!”

The winged horse bristles as she drops in altitude. She’s managed to find them a landing spot within 30 seconds, and as they touch down, he barely has the time to give the elegant beast one final ‘thank you’ before he’s running off with Ingrid in his arms.

He has no real idea the severity of her wound, having never really gotten the chance to take a look at it while they were in combat and a good hundred feet in the air. He takes the time to do so now and is immediately greeted by an ugly black spot just beneath the girls left breast.

Directly over her heart.

Bile rises in his throat to a degree he’s never quite experienced. It doesn’t seem inaccurate to say that it feels like the world is ending as he looks down at what very well may be the dead young woman in his arms.

“HELP!” His voice rips itself from his throat without permission, without him even getting the chance to think of what to say. His words are utter desperation, that, and horrific fear, the most he’s ever been afraid in his entire life. “HELP! I NEED A MEDIC HERE!” He calls again, running forward despite the terrible pain echoing from his arms, especially his left, which, in the chaos, he’s neglected to consider is broken, and from his esophagus, which burns with a rasping ache. He feels like he wants to cry. He is crying, he realizes a moment later. “Please, she’s injured really bad, and–”

His voice cuts off abruptly as a hand touches his own.

“Calm down…” A tiny voice from just below him exclaims. “Goddess, I’m not dying.”

He looks down, bewildered, to see Ingrid smiling up at him a bit amusedly.

“I’m fine, sheesh. You know I’ve always been able to tank magic like it’s nothing, don’t you?”

He finds that words don’t really come to him as he tries to formulate a response. His lips are flapping, surely, but no sound is coming out.

“But… you…” Something finally emerges. “For me, you…”

Ingrid reaches up and flicks his nose. “I’m **_fine!_** ” she stresses, some of her joking tone fading away at seeing the genuine worry in his eyes. “Seriously, I’m okay. The only reason that knocked me out was because I had to take it for you, and because that bastard landed the perfect shot. But I’m here, Sylvain, he didn’t get me.”

He lets go of the breath he’s been holding for the last few minutes as the last dregs of worry flow out of him in an aching sigh of relief.

“I don’t want you to do that for me again.” He says when he can finally formulate words. “I’m strong, too. I don’t want you to… I don’t want you to throw your life away protecting me, I can–”

Ingrid shakes her head, cutting him off. “No can do, I’ve already decided to protect the people close to me, no matter what.”

He wants to claw out his hair as he leads Ingrid back to where he can see a few medical officers working. The girl is as set on her ‘knightly duty’ as he’s ever seen her on anything else, and he knows for a fact that, as stubborn as she is in most things, here she must be doubly so. He cannot sway her, that he understands without having to ask. But even still…

“Then… How about a compromise?” He offers as he places her down atop a medical gurney and follows along beside her as the medics begin to work their magic. “You protect me, sure… but I’ve still got my pride as well. Let me do the same for you. I don’t wanna’ see get hurt. That’s… If you got injured for my sake, I don’t know what I’d…”

Ingrid looks away from him, though, funnily enough, he can see a faint dusting of pink adorning her cheeks that she’s just a bit too slow to hide.

He’s just ever so slightly too tired to read into that.

“That…” He hears her say with a small laugh.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

\-----

Byleth parries the blade of an Agarthan warrior and sinks Athame into the back of his neck. It’s an effective hit, one that has her opponent slumping down barely a moment later, the light in his eyes entirely dim.

As she lets her body breathe for the first time in several minutes, she takes a moment to examine the scene of the battle.

Ingrid and Sylvain had together taken out both Daphnel and Gautier. They’d worked as an astounding pair, and even when the latter had been knocked off of his horse, and had been about to be run down, the former had managed to scoop him up aboard her Pegasus (much to the beasts distaste) and save him from being killed by his ancestor.

Together, the two had managed to fell the others respective elites, striking them down with their lances, and opening up a path into the thick of the battle. Sylvain had gotten back on top of another horse (the one he’d ridden into battle having unfortunately been slain in their previous encounter) after taking Ingrid into the medical battalion, and recommenced commanding his cavalry, ordering the group to take a scattered, almost chaotic, approach to their charge. They’d followed his orders with little hesitation, causing enough anarchy amidst the fighting to confuse even the battle-hardened Agarthans.

Still, as Byleth takes a look over the battlefield so far, she can’t help but feel a sharp worry in the back of her skull.

Nemesis still hasn’t moved.

Such a thing should be a positive, and technically it still is. Their main opponent has been gripping his head near the back of the enemy formation for a good 20 minutes now, doing nothing to assist his armies as they’re cut apart by Fódlan’s first wave.

Once again, she feels the need to remind herself that that’s technically a good thing.

Mostly because it doesn’t feel like it is.

She feels terribly nervous every time he gives so much as a tiny jitter, because she knows that when he does wake up, he will be the most fearsome opponent they’ve faced, bar none. His control over the Sword of the Creator is far below her own, but it’s always been more than enough to make him a sufficient opponent whenever she’s faced the normal him in the past.

Now, he has been augmented. The blood in his veins makes him technically immortal, and the devices running along his body probably do a bit to help with that as well. Lastly, with Sothis to fall back on, she has no idea the array of powers he might possess.

In the worst case, they will never get to find out. There is a chance that the moment he recovers from his little _‘headache’_ , he will simply rewind time twelve hundred years, and end this battle before it can even truly begin. It’s all she can do to pray idly to Sothis, to believe that good must win out here.

She keys back into the battle just as Lorenz, Raphael, and Ignatz strike down Gloucester, bringing their total elites defeated up to three. There are still seven left.

She hopes that things will stay as they are… That her armies will continue to gain ground, that the buffed up Nemesis will stay stationary…

And that the dying flame in her heart will keep her going just a little bit longer.

\-----

The fact that Ashe is still firing off arrow’s at this point in the battle is more a testament to his skill as a thief than as an archer. As he passes by the corpses of the Agarthans he’s killed, he rips the arrows he’s fired into them right back out and shoots them all off once more, perpetuating the cycle. If he hadn’t been doing such a thing, he’d have run out of ammunition while they were still in the ‘city’ below.

It may have been six years since he’d first struck down an enemy with one of his arrows, but even still, all this time later, he doesn’t find the act all that much easier. There are pieces and parts of him that are numb to it, but those are only the physical things, his muscles, his aim, his breath.. His more mental issues, his emotions… Never quite catch up with them.

Still, now’s not the time. He needs to be here for all of Fódlan. He needs to be here for people like Lonato, and the people of his hometown, who he’s protecting, for people like Christophe, who couldn’t make it here to see this day…

And for people like Catherine as well.

He has not seen the woman since the battle truly began in earnest, apart from the occasional slashes of Thunderbrand that illuminate her surroundings. One such slash cuts across the horizon just in front of him, and a piece of him gives a silent order.

 _‘Let’s go meet up with her’_ It advises.

He finds he does not mind the sound of that.

He cuts across the field of battle in not too much of a hurry, content to arrive by Catherine’s side whenever he gets there, prioritizing his own safety as a longer-range combatant, one who would be far less safe in melee-range of the many Agarthans warriors still all around them.

When he finally does arrive around where she is, he’s immediately greeted by a rather frightening observation…

_“This isn’t Catherine.”_

The man who stands before him does technically wield Thunderbrand, but the blade, and the man himself, for that matter, is cloaked in a dark energy. Whoever he is turns towards Ashe just as he’s finished cutting down two alliance soldiers.

Ash feels a real, palpable fear fill him as he takes a step back and away from the mortal savant. The man raises up not his sword hand, but his left, channeling a powerful dark magic into it and pointing it directly at him.

He dodges out of the way of it as it flies past him, exploding along the grassy terrain behind him and kicking up dirt and other debris. As he tries to get back up, he turns to see that the man has closed the distance between them and is now holding his dark Thunderbrand above his head, poised to bring it down on Ashe’s own.

He lets out a tiny squeak as he brings his bow up to block the attack but knows without really knowing why that it will not be enough to save him.

It is in a moment that a shadow passes right in front of him, and the oddest sound fills the area. It is quite unlike anything he’s ever heard before, the sound of bone clashing against bone, of divine artifacts meeting one another in battle.

More than that though, his eyes are drawn upwards towards the figure who’d stepped in to save him, and an honest smile breaks through his previously terrified visage.

“You alright there, Ashe?” Catherine asks with her usual spunk, quickly knocking aside her mirrors blade and forcing him back and away from the two of them.

“Just fine, thank you.” He says honestly, trying to ignore the shaking in his legs as he stands, and walks to be beside his savior. “You came just in the nick of time!”

The woman smiles as she readies Thunderbrand once more and point it towards their opponent. “So, I take it you’re Charon, my ancestor, right?”

The man, if he’s a man at all, says nothing. The only thing he does do is match Catherine’s stance, holding up his own Thunderbrand with a grace and poise that illustrates his skill. They cannot see behind the mask he wears, but his mouth, the only piece of his face visible, is set into a thin line, entirely calm. Ashe can’t tell if the man is a match for his friend, but if the small frown on the woman’s face is anything to go by, at the very least she doesn’t believe this will be easy.

The two move without a word, their blades clashing in the imaginary center of the small battleground they’ve chosen for themselves. If Ashe is reading their duel correctly, then Catherine seems to have a small advantage in their earliest jousts, but it’s on a knife’s edge as to who will truly come out victorious.

Their next exchange is even faster, and this time, Catherine is very clearly the victor. She scores a nasty cut along Charon’s left arm, one which has the warrior immediately backing away, seemingly reassessing the situation. The woman doesn’t give him a chance to think, however, immediately following his own breakaway and bringing him back into the fight.

Ashe can barely follow this combat, and it reminds him of when the Professor had dueled the likes of the Death Knight and even Catherine herself in his younger years at the monastery. Fast and frenetic blows give way only to more, and just when he thinks that the blond swordswoman has struck the final blow, knocking aside Charon’s Thunderbrand with her own, he sees the man’s last desperate gambit come into effect as his left-hand blazes with dark magic.

The spell, whatever it is, knocks Catherine flat on her back, and it’s all Ashe can do to scream and fire an arrow off at the man, forcing him to abandon what might’ve been a killing strike on the downed woman, and dash away.

He makes it to Catherine’s prone body and is horrendously relieved to find her conscious. She’s panting, sure, but she looks to be in fine shape to continue fighting, the magic hit she’d taken having only really blindsided her.

“I’m fine, Ashe, you – _get out of the way_!”

He acquiesces, dodging to the left just in time for Catherine to get her sword up to meet Charon’s own. She grits her teeth as the exchange of raw strength that she’d previously been winning leans now in her opponents favor and lets out a curse.

Ashe detests fighting. Ever since he’d first killed that bandit back in their first mission, ever since he’d stabbed that dog back in that dark alley to keep it from stealing food for his brother’s, there’d been a part of him that couldn’t forgive himself for the sins he’d committed. There had been a part of him that had always wanted to just hang up his bow and stop, to live a peaceful life back in his home village.

But… no. Ashe will not allow this. Catherine… is his friend. He won’t allow her to be killed here.

He will fight, even if a part of him wants nothing more than to simply flee.

Just as the dark elite takes a stab at Catherine’s chest, Ashe’s arrow finds its mark, burying itself in the man’s shoulder. Charon is forced back further as Catherine manages to cut across his breastplate, having used the brief window Ashe had given her to her advantage.

“Sorry! I won’t hesitate anymore.” Ashe shakes his head, shelving his insecurities, and the little bits and pieces of himself that couldn’t quite forgive him to deal with later. “I’ll fight by your side, Catherine! We’ll beat this guy together!”

If Catherine is at all surprised by his sudden proclamation, then she doesn’t show it. Instead, she reaches over and ruffles his hair with her left-hand.

“Alright,” She smirks at him. “Together then.”

As Charon fires off a spell, Catherine uses the blade of Thunderbrand itself to block it. As it explodes along the edge, the blade is cloaked in a mysterious energy.

Even though it’s enough to distract Ashe for a moment, it does nothing to his partner, who is already charging forward, her sword brought along behind her and swung upwards, trying to cleave Charon’s left arm from his body.

The strike itself is dodged, but the magic that had been gathering on the blade still launches off of it, cutting into the armor of the elite himself. It’s enough to briefly stagger him once more, and for Catherine to move in.

More than that, though, it’s a chance for Ashe to fire off another arrow. 

“Catherine!” He shouts with all the confidence he’s ever felt. “Go in now! I have you!”

The woman does not doubt him. She follows his exact order without hesitation, bringing her sword up so that its level with her collarbone, and charging inwards. Charon matches her exact stance, the same as he’d done at the beginning of their battle, but due to the injury he’s taken, he’s just the smallest bit slower, the smallest bit more hesitant. Even with that said, Catherine herself is slowed by the residual effects of the earlier spell. At this point, the winner might as well be random, it really could go either way.

Which means it’s up to him to swing it in Catherine’s favor.

His arrow flies from its string at an obscene velocity, aiming not for the body of the elite himself, but for his left foot, which he has just put forward to try and match Catherine’s stabbing attack blow-for-blow. He slips slightly to dodge it, and the trajectory of his sword goes with it. With a victorious cry, and a slight shift of footing, Catherine steps into Charon’s guard…

And buries her sword in his chest.

It is undeniable that Catherine has struck a fatal blow, but at the same time, Charon’s own Thunderbrand comes out the back of Catherine, and there’s blood running along it.

Ashe feels his heart leap into his throat as he rushes towards the blond woman. Her opponent falls at her feet, clearly dead as one of the shields surrounding the King of Liberation in the distance fades. The fourth of the Ten Elites has fallen…

But he doesn’t possess the energy to care about that at all, not when Catherine, too, falls to her knees.

He makes it to her just in time to catch her from falling over, wrapping his arms around her, and gently laying her down on the ground. He inspects the wound on her side with as much care as he can spare given that they’re in the middle of a battlefield.

He’s expecting a horrid wound, something that not even a vulnerary or concoction could fix…

But instead, he finds only a small gash.

His face must show how he’s feeling inside, for the very much alive Catherine laughs at his expense, causing him to blush madly.

“What, did you think I’d fail with you behind me?” She asks playfully, before shaking her head and recovering some aspect of seriousness. “That was a good hit. Clean, crisp, exactly what I would’ve wanted from you. You’ve got some skill, Ashe.”

The blush on his face only deepens, and he’s forced to look away as the woman’s laughter does the same. He hands her the vulnerary he keeps on his person, and she takes to drinking it rather quickly.

“I…”

The woman says nothing while she downs the magic medicine, giving him time to formulate his thoughts. He appreciates it… far more than she knows.

“It’s not like I don’t believe in my own ability… It’s just that I… I couldn’t forgive myself for fighting… for killing… For taking the lives of others.”

Catherine looks away from him, the expression on her face one of abject guilt.

“I… I understand that feeling.” She sighs. “Though… I suppose you’d know that already.”

He knows what the woman’s talking about. The choice to turn Christophe over to the church for his perceived crimes had been her own. From her own words some several years ago, it had been as clear as day that she’d never quite forgiven herself for it.

“I… I don’t know if I’m qualified to speak on this, but… Christophe… I don’t think he would have wanted you to blame yourself for so many years. Or, at the very least, I’d like you to know that ** _I_** don’t blame you.” The woman’s eyes widen minutely, as if she’s trying to mask her feelings, but just not quite able to. “I even spoke with Lonato about you, and he said–”

“Wait,” she interrupts him. “You spoke with Lonato about me?”

Ashe nods slowly. “I asked… If he’d ever be able to forgive you.”

Catherine looks flabbergasted. “Why… Would you…”

“Well, I could tell it weighed heavily on you. You stuck with the church so long to try and make something out of what you perceived as a cardinal sin… Something you’d never be able to atone for. But, in the end, I think which you really wanted was to be forgiven. So… I asked Lonato, and…”

His voice stops as he looks down at Catherine and sees the utter confusion on her face. A moment later, with no warning at all, the woman simply begins to laugh.

It’s a loud and boisterous thing, not unlike the woman herself. Even so, he can see beneath that confident veneer lies pain the likes of which he might never know. Even with their similarities, he doesn’t think he’d ever be capable of betraying a friend in quite the same way as she had.

But even still, he forgives her for that.

“And?” she asks, the smile on her face unfading. “What’d he say?”

Ashe rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, he said if you wanted to be forgiven, then you were going to have to ask for it yourself, g-groveling on the floor like a dog.” He’s unable to meet her eyes at those words. “S-sorry, I know that’s probably not exactly what you were hoping for, but–”

“There’s… A chance?”

He looks down at Catherine, whose voice had just been so quiet, so filled with a desperate hope, that it had sounded almost nothing like her at all.

“Hah… Seriously? That crotchety old geezer would really…” She shakes her head. “I honestly can’t believe it. How did you get him to even consider it?”

“Well, I just told him the truth.” He explains as he helps her up, the vulnerary having worked its magic on her side, sealing the wound. “I explained how much it affects you as well, Christophe’s death, I mean. And he… I don’t know, he seemed to resonate with that.”

Neither of them says a word as they limp away from their makeshift battleground. It is only a while later, once Ashe’s gotten Catherine over to the medical battalion, that she says a thing at all.

“Looks like… there’re a few things I’ll need to speak with Lonato about after this is all over.”

He tells his head in slight confusion. “You already had something in mind?”

She stares up at him at that, and in her expression is something he’s never seen someone look at him with, not in all his life. It is almost like pride, but… no, that’s not quite it.

Before he can truly decipher the expression, it’s gone, forcefully replaced by a much more at ease look.

“Yes… though…”

She smiles, as if sharing a joke with herself, as she brings him close, and hugs him against her.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

\-----

The first blow that’s thrown by his opponent, one that nearly manages to sheer his left arm from his body, has Felix backing up cautiously.

It’s a bit unlike him to not simply charge forward anyways, but the assailant before him is not one to be trifled with. Fraldarius’s Arrow of Indra crackles with electricity, the tiny bolts arcing off of it and causing the hair to stand up on the back of his neck.

They exchange blows once more, and again, Felix is forced to come to the conclusion that the two of them, both warriors of the Fraldarius name, are more than evenly matched. If he’s being honest, his opponent may even stand above him in terms of raw skill.

Not that he’d ever admit that, of course.

He parries the woman’s lance as he takes a step back, and barely manages to hop over a piece of debris that would have otherwise tripped him, likely ending their fight then and there. Six years ago, he’d nearly been done in by falling off of a raised platform while fighting that bandit leader during their first mission. It had been a source of embarrassment for him for many weeks, being saved by his Professor…

Being saved by a _woman._

But… He’d conquered those feelings. It hadn’t been an option to simply think of some people as lesser, to underestimate them, because if he had, if he’d tried to keep up that attitude, he’d be dead by now. Too many times on the battlefield had he been met by someone who the younger him would’ve considered ‘weak’ that nearly wiped the floor with him. It’d probably helped him to overcome his own weaknesses that the strongest warrior he’d ever seen had been their Professor, a veritable hurricane of steel and ferocity. Even now, his great ancestor, the ancestor of all Fraldarius themselves, is a woman, and she’s as strong as any he’s encountered.

In the face of such evidence, his old prejudices have to be tossed aside. To do otherwise would be to invite death unto himself.

Though it seems, regardless, that by facing Fraldarius, he’s already done just that.

The woman is faster than him, surely, but more than that, he does not have an offensive heroes relic like most of his compatriots. Nor does he truly like to wield the Aegis Shield slung across his back along his left arm, for it weighs him down too much. 

Fraldarius, on the other hand, seems to have no such problems. The Arrow of Indra that she swings towards him is more than a match for Sylvain’s Lance of Ruin and Ingrid’s Lúin in raw power. It hits hard, more than hard enough for him to be forced to parry rather than block most blows, scattering them in a way that doesn’t allow him the room to land any hits on the woman’s body. That’s thanks in large part to the Dark Aegis Shield attached to her left arm, which she uses to block the occasional hit that he _does_ manage to weave through her guard.

All in all, things are going rather poorly, which is why he’s not at all afraid to accept backup in the form of a raging fireball that nearly manages to knock Fraldarius’s block off. She dodges it, just barely, but she’s forced to back away from Felix to do so, which gives him some much-needed breathing room.

Though he’s a bit surprised to find Flayn his back-up.

“I thought it wasn’t like you to lose a fight, Felix?” She teases him lightly. “Gosh, what am I gonna’ do with you?”

He feels an embarrassed flush cover his face, and growls as he brings his weapon to bear. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

He refuses to acknowledge that not ten seconds ago, he’d been more than willing to accept said assistance. He’s never been very good at articulating his feelings, and he has a sneaking suspicion that won’t be changing any time soon.

“Technically you maaaaybe didn’t, but I’ve deigned to give to you my presence regardless.” She gives a makeshift bow, giggling slightly. “Dad is helping out some of the others, and the medical corps is actually mostly empty right now. We’re winning this battle pretty hard, so I thought I’d come check up on how things were going.”

He deflects a shot from Fraldarius just as Flayn ducks underneath the woman’s guard and launches a powerful spell right into her chest. She is sent flying back and lands on the ground hard. She makes no move to stand.

He turns to the young green-haired girl with a question of his lips.

“And you thought to help me of all people…” He mutters suspiciously. “Why?”

Flayn looks down and away from him, a blush of her own now adorning her visage.

“That’s… not important.”

For some reason (and if asked about this later, he’s rather confident he’d have no idea why he reacted as he did in the middle of a battlefield), he finds himself wanting to see the girl beside him squirm slightly. Not in an overly negative way, but… he discovers it’s awfully difficult to fully describe the feeling. Either way, he puts on his best Sylvain impression and decides he’ll do a little teasing.

“Oh? How so?” He asks casually. “Why would you come and attend to me over anyone else? Did you not think me capable?”

“No, that’s not it, I–”

“Then just what exactly is the problem?”

“That’s… Oh, Felix, stop teasing–” Her eyes widen to an almost inhuman degree. “FELIX!”

He has just enough time to turn and see Fraldarius’s Arrow of Indra pierce into his left shoulder, to process the pain of said blow before he’s launched backwards by the impact. He lands hard on his left side and screams out in agony as he feels the already gouged portion of his body send shockwaves of pain through his system.

It’s all he can do to get his sword up in time to block Fraldarius’s next attack. He’s not as lucky with the following two, the first of which knocks his weapon out of his hand, and the second of which is poised to stab deep into his heart.

Luckily, Flayn is just a tad bit faster.

The fireball she shoots off collides with Fraldarius’s left side, knocking the undead warrior back and away from him. Flayn’s on him in nearly a second, inspecting his body for wounds other than the gaping hole in his shoulder, which he’s fairly certain she’s noticed by now.

“Oh Goddess, Felix, you-”

Fraldarius has not stayed down for long. Her Arrow of Indra narrowly misses Flayn’s face as the girl jukes back and away from her onslaught. It seems, at least to Felix, like Fraldarius has elected to ignore him for now, and focus on the active combatant, which is lucky, since, prone on the ground as he is, he has little means to stop her from gutting him on the spot.

Flayn’s battle with the woman is going poorly from minute one. She is simply not equipped to be fighting an opponent of this caliber, not alone, at least. He tries to force himself up, tries to coerce his body to maneuver in the way he wants to, tries to push himself over there to help her, but he can barely manage to crawl to his sword, and scoop the blade off the ground with his good right hand.

Most of his left side is entirely unresponsive at this point, and even though he’s able to push himself up through sheer will, he’s unable to catch Flayn as she falls to the ground, panting breathlessly.

“Flayn, you have to get out of here!” He stresses through harsh breaths, trying to find where he stashed that _damned_ concoction of his. “If you don’t, she’ll kill you!”

Instead of retreating, however, Flayn stands again, as if she’d decided to entirely ignore what he’s just said. She brings up her hands in front of her and casts off another fireball, one that whizzes just by Fraldarius, but at least forces her to juke away. It’s clear, however, as Flayn stumbles after utilizing her magic, that she’s on her last legs.

He needs to make her realize that. If he doesn’t…

If he doesn’t, then…

“Flayn, you can’t win this.” He shouts at her in a panic. “She’s too–”

“Shush, Felix!” Flayn cries back. “Just… Just shut up, okay!?” The language is so foreign out of her mouth that, had the timing been different, he might’ve found a laugh bubbling up past his lips. “I’m not just going to abandon you and let you die! You don’t always have to solve all your problems by yourself, you know!”

“But, you–”

“I can do this.” She turns back to him, and there’s a look in her eyes he’s never seen before. “Trust in me.”

He’s unable to say anything at all.

“I won’t fail again. Don’t worry.” It sounds as if Flayn’s comforting him, but the words there make no sense. He recognizes that this is a ritual not for him, but for herself. “I refuse to sleep another millennia away. I refuse to weigh down the people that care about me.”

Fraldarius charges for Flayn, bringing her Arrow of Indra up like a javelin and preparing to throw it at the young – or, perhaps quite old – girl.

“I’ll…” Her voice comes out of her mouth different, sounding as if it has been filtered through some kind of machine. It echoes through the planes around them, and Felix feels a chill run up the back of the spine.

Fraldarius jumps up and throws her spear directly at Flayn’s head. It will pierce right through it in but a fraction of a second.

“This time, _I’ll_ be the one saving everyone!”

And then, in the next moment, Flayn’s body distorts.

The spear that had previously been about to eviscerate her is knocked away by the blast of energy that erupts off of her body. Unfortunately for Fraldarius, the woman is still in the air, and in that moment, just before she’s crushed by a massive, clawed extremity, Felix thinks he can see just the smallest bit of regret on her features.

She is then crushed.

He sees in the distance as Nemesis’ body flinches, and another of his shields dissipates, marking another of the Ten Elites as having fallen. And yet, somehow, he finds his attention isn’t much on the undead King of Liberation, but on the massive figure that is currently casting a shadow over him, towering over the battlefield just in front of him.

Feathers. That’s the first thing he notices, somehow.

The massive beast’s body is lined with feathers, though it does not, to him at least, give off the appearance of a bird, or other avian creature. No, it is more an awe-inspiring lizard, which is a sentence he really never thought he’d be thinking.

The beasts head turns to him, and he gets his first good look at its face. It has horns that are around where he’d imagine it’s ears would be, and a plume of feathers that look almost like a crown adorning its head. It’s… He hesitates to use the word majestic, but he honestly can’t think of anything else to say about the creature.

It is beautiful in an odd way.

“Felix,” The dragon calls to him. “Are you okay?”

He hates the fact that he recognizes that voice, because now, right here in front of him, stands irrefutable proof that Rhea had likely been telling the truth during her incredibly fishy tale.

Because the beast before his very eyes is so clearly Flayn.

“You…” He really tries to say something other than what he’s about to say. He fails. “You’re actually a dragon.”

He’s not sure it’s possible for the beast in front of him to smile, but if it is, that he’s just seen it.

“Technically I’m a divine beast.”

“But…” He feels like an idiot as he points rather dumbly at her entire body. “Dragon.”

Flayn seems to find a good deal of amusement in that, for she gives off a laugh that flows through the grass below them like the wind would on a peaceful spring day.

“Yes, well, I suppose I am a bit dragon-y, aren’t I?” She giggles once more, which is such a bewildering thing to see. “Though, Felix, didn’t I tell you I was one?”

He can help but shake his head, feeling that he must excuse himself at least a tad.

“But… I…”

“Did you not believe me?”

“That’s not…” He looks away from her in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks grow a bit warmer. “Entirely it.”

She tilts her head to the side in confusion, almost like a small dog would when it’s curious. He refuses to admit that it’s an oddly cute thing to see, and instead bulldozes his way through the current awkward moment as best he can.

“Didn’t you say that you’d been severely weakened during the battle 1200 years ago? How come you can take on that form?”

“Honestly?” The dragon before him laughs freely. “I didn’t know I could. But… When I saw you take that hit back there, something within me just kind of… Snapped. I thought to myself “I can’t let Felix die!” and then, I just felt energy well up inside my body. The next thing I knew, I was like this.”

There is a piece of that that he is unable to fathom.

“That’s… For me?”

The dragon nods her head. “I’ve… I’ve become stronger in the last five years than I did during the entirety of my millennia long rest. I have you, Professor Byleth, and the rest of the Blue Lions to thank for that. And now… I’m going to use that strength they’ve given me. I’m going to help save the world as best I can.”

He finds himself inspired by the girls’ words. Sure, she’s a millennia old, but she had always felt like the youngest member of the Blue Lions, even with Ashe among their ranks.

He’s smiling before he even realizes it.

“You’ve actually matured, color me impressed.”

“Hey, Felix, shouldn’t you say something a little more encouraging than that!? I just bared my entire soul to you; I’ll have you know!”

Before he can say anything, the sounds of a horrible clash on the edge of this hearing key him into the fact that something is wrong on the front lines. He turns his head to look, and sees the soldiers there being ravaged by Demonic Beasts.

Flayn has seen them as well, and she lowers one of her massive wings to the ground just beside him.

“Hurry and get on, Felix! I’ll take you to the medical corps as quick as I can, but I need to get over there and help those guys out.”

He looks to the battlefield, and then back to its Flayn, biting his bottom lip rather stressfully.

“How long can you hold that form?”

He almost expects Flayn to lie to him as she turns her massive face away from him, as if to hide, but instead, she opens her maw, and tells him the truth.

“I’m… Not sure. Hopefully long enough to take these guys out, but since this is my first transformation in 1200 years…” She shakes her feathered head. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, I’ll do what I have to.”

Perhaps it’s just him being overly touchy, but he feels he can see a kernel of fear in the dragon’s eyes. The mighty beast before him is afraid…

And something about that… He simply cannot allow.

“No,” he interrupts her before she can take off. “I’ll be staying with you.”

She turns to him, her iridescent eyes gleaming, with surprise written all over her face.

“But–”

He shakes his head to indicate that there will be no convincing him otherwise.

“I have a concoction.” He says as he brings out the magic vial, one the professor had told him to always carry on his person in case he needed it, from out of his coat. “It’ll be more than enough to stem the bleeding. Right now, we need your strength on the front lines. I’ll ride along on top. I can still pelt them with magic from the air.”

“Felix…”

“I’m not going to abandon you here. Just like you didn’t abandon me back there. If your transformation fails, then I’ll be right there beside you to pick up the slack, understood?”

They sit in silence for but a moment as Flayn mentally debates what she’ll do. Technically, she has every right, and every ability, to simply pick him up with her talons and drop him off at the medical battalion. But he hopes that she won’t do something that stupid.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the girl’s jaw moves.

“…Alright.”

He nods as he climbs atop her back and straddles her neck with both his legs. It’s… Well, he can see Sylvain very easily making a joke about this, but he decides not to focus on that. Instead, as he downs the concoction in his hand, and Flayn takes them into the sky with her gargantuan wings, he focuses only on the battle they still have ahead of them.

Before he can get too engrossed in that, however, Flayn’s voice rings out one last time.

“Thank you, Felix.”

“What for?”

“For standing by me, no matter what.” She laughs a bit airily. “You’re not so much of a lone wolf after all, are you?”

He finds himself blushing.

“Hmph…” He scoffs.

Flayn giggles once more, and her entire back rumbles. The sensation is one of the weirdest things he’s felt in his life. It does interesting things to certain parts of him, though by pain of death, he will keep that particular happening a secret.

“Seriously, though, Thank you.”

Despite the teasing, he finds himself smiling against his will.

“Don’t mention it.”

As they dodge just out of the way of another demonic beasts claws, and Felix fires off a Bolganone at it, burning it to a crisp, he can’t help thinking about the wind in his hair. It’s something he’s never quite experienced before, which seems to be a common experience today.

He wonders briefly if it’s similar to how Ingrid feels atop her Pegasus, but no, it can’t truly be like that. It’s the power in Flayn’s wings that makes him feel like they cannot be stopped, and the magic that seems to radiate off of her as she shoots a fireball at one of the Demonic Beasts below makes him feel like he, too, could take on the world.

No one can ever know, but… Riding atop Flayn into battle, even against the enemies they’re facing down…

He feels damn near invincible.

\-----

She’s not sure when exactly it had been that the medical unit had decided to move their line forwards, but nevertheless, she finds herself slinging spells as Agarthan warriors assault them with a variety of weapons. They are by far the most protected unit of the army, which means very, very few even get a chance to _see_ them, let alone to take a swing at them, but nevertheless, Mercedes has already decided she will be a bastion for as many as she can manage.

She is strong, a pillar of support for those behind her, and an anchor those in front can count on to have their backs if they’re injured. She is the leader of the Blue Lions Medical Corps, which means, funnily enough, she’s retained a bit of her ‘mom’ status from back during her days at the Monastery.

There’s a part of her that wishes that title carried with it a bit more prestige, but, at the same time, she’s glad her old classmates still regard her more as family than as a fellow warrior, or some other nonsense.

She flinches as a good portion of their front line’s left flank is sheared away by a powerful lightning spell, and a good majority of the force behind that fall not to a direct hit, but from the static electricity coursing through the earth below them.

She calls on the medical force to move immediately, for it’s likely that a good portion of them can still be saved. They follow behind her unquestioningly, knowing her style is that of safety rather than risk. She will not put them in danger when there is any other option, and if there is no other option, then she will choose to keep them safe over the alternative.

As they arrive, they see to the wounded first and foremost. The dead will have their time, surely, but as bleak as it is to admit, there’s not much they can do for them now. She herself tends to a female knight who’s just barely hanging in there. She opens with a far more powerful ‘Restore’ spell, closing up the woman’s more major wounds before channeling within herself a wide area covering ‘Fortify’.

The spell shoots out of her like an ocean of bright green light, and quickly blankets the few dozen soldiers all around her. Gradually, they’re able to stand, and Mercedes is just about to wish them well and fall back to their old positioning when another of the medics lets out a cry of warning.

Luckily, another of their officers is quite proficient in the ‘Ward’ spell, which is the only thing that saves them from being absolutely massacred by the ‘Abraxas’, which rains from the sky with a holy light. As the light fades, and her unit can take some time to catch their bearings, she looks over at the mage who’s been firing off spells from the distance. The woman is not someone she recognizes immediately, and yet, somehow, there’s an innate feeling inside her that says she knows her more than she thinks.

With everything else going on today, and with the way her body glows eerily, it’s not that hard to make an educated guess.

_“This must be Lamine.”_

Her hand reaches up and touches the gem around her neck almost instinctively. The Rafail Gem there is mirrored by one on Lamine’s neck. Hers is a dark copy, one which seems to burn with an infernal energy, and yet Mercedes senses no less power within it.

Her own gem, which she’d received from her brother, the Death Knight himself, after facing him in the Sealed Forest glows almost comfortingly in her hands.

 _“Emile,”_ She thinks to herself. _“Give me strength.”_

She begins to charge the energy for a reason-based spell in her hands and fires it off at the distant Mage. Lamine dodges the attack rather easily, firing off her own rebuttal which just grazes Mercedes’ left side.

She motions for her unit to make their retreat, and most of her compatriots yell out support or encouragement as they follow said orders. She’s left alone with Lamine after another 30 seconds or so of exchanging magics, and one thing is rather clear.

She’s inferior to her ancestor in matters of offense.

This is not a particularly difficult thing to handle; she’s inferior in matters of offense compared to just about every one of her classmates. Her ability to kill has never been her focus, rather, it has always been her wish to save as many people as she possibly could from the horrors of war.

Such a philosophy is coming back to bite her now, sure, but one measly fight does not make her regret her choices.

Even as she’s forced to her knees by a blast of electricity, there is no doubt in her heart. Even as Lamine steps closer to her, she feels no fear.

Because she can always rely on the others to help her.

In the moment between Lamine’s eyes closing to blink, and opening again, a warrior has appeared in her blind spot. It is a credit to just how robust a fighter the woman, and likely the other Ten Elites as well, had been during her lifetime that she’s able to dodge the incoming assailants blade.

Said man is slightly faster than her, however, and is able to score a nasty cut along the woman’s cheek as she retreats back. Luckily for her, he’s also far more interested in protecting Mercedes than he is in trying to finish Lamine off.

“Be more careful, Mercedes!” Her brother scolds her, spinning his sword in one hand in order to deflect an incoming fireball from their shared opponent. “You’ll be killed if you act so recklessly again!”

Despite the harshness of his words, she’s smiling as she addresses him. “I’ll try to be, Emile.”

She decides to leave the combat to Emile as the boy charges in. It is perhaps unfair to refer to him as ‘boy’, but she’ll always consider him her baby brother, even when he’s wielding a blade half his size and striking out against their undead ancestor.

…Things had gotten odd of late, and Mercedes had no shame in admitting she can barely follow any of it anymore.

Luckily for both of them, Lamine is no fighter when it comes to close range. She attempts to back away from Emile’s strikes, but she’s continuously stricken by them regardless. It’s clear the combat will soon resolve itself with her brother as the victor… Which is perhaps why Lamine goes for a rather desperate maneuver.

As Emile dodges into her guard for what looks to be the final time, she rips the Dark Rafail Gem off of her neck and crushes it against her palm.

Black magic pours off of the woman as the gem breaks into pieces, engulfing her surroundings in a dark energy that seems to sap the life from anything that enters into it. The grass beneath her wilts and dies almost instantly, and she can tell from Emile’s expression that he isn’t too far off. She lets out a scream as she moves forward, firing off a powerful ‘Ragnarök’ that eviscerates the battlefield.

It’s enough to force Lamine back, but unfortunately, she’s not fast enough to catch her brother before he falls.

She makes it to his side just a second or two late.

“Emile!” She shouts. “Emile!”

“Fine…” Words pass by his lips, and she feels a horrid clump of worry unravel itself within her breast. “But… can’t fight anymore… That’s clear, at least.”

She nods, agreeing with him from a medical standpoint. He looks entirely drained of energy, as if he’d just run for hours on end without stopping. It doesn’t help that there are other cuts and bruises that he’s taken across the day’s events dotting his body as well.

Her brother can no longer fight, which means…

Which means that she has to.

She charges in her hands another spell, and rounds on Lamine, she herself having only just stood up. Mercedes is just the tiniest bit faster at firing off her Bolganone, which rips across the woman’s dress, shearing away the delicate fabric. Her brother has already done a number on the woman, which means finishing her off should be well within Mercedes’ ability.

Or, it would be, if not for the shadow that briefly blinds her, and forces her to ever so narrowly dodge out of the way of his incoming hammer. Said object hits the ground where she’d been standing but a moment prior, and violently rends the earth apart.

She lands on the newly ripped up ground and stumbles, hitting the dirt below her a second later with a cough. She tries to stand up, but she can feel the effects of the day’s toils hanging off her body as she’s unable to quite manage it. She’s weakened, barely hanging on.

She sees Emile begin to rise in the distance, coming to assist his sister as best he possibly can, but she knows his help alone will not be enough.

As the new figure steps towards her, she notes that his hammer is a near perfect replica of Crusher. That would make this man Dominic, Annette’s ancestor in the flesh.

Perhaps it is simply because of seeing the weapon before her, but as it’s raised above Dominic’s head, and poised to be slammed down on Mercedes form, she finds her last thoughts are of Annie, of what she’ll get up to when her precious best friend is gone.

It is at that moment that a blast of wind scythes through the man’s body, and launches him several feet away, where he crashes into the dirt rather harshly.

“Get away from _my_ Mercie!”

Her head darts towards the sound of her saviors voice, and maybe it’s just the gravity of the situation, but she finds tears stinging at the edges of her eyes as she sees Annette standing just beyond her, looking like a gallant figure of legend as she fires off a second ‘Excalibur’, this time at Mercedes’ ancestor.

It’s all the woman can do to get a ‘Ward’ up to partially block the spell before she’s utterly annihilated by its winds, nearly taken out right then and there. She’s definitely alive after the winds die out, but she’s on her last legs even more so than before, probably barely breathing.

“Are you alright, Mercie!?” Annette shouts at her as she runs over and kneels at Mercedes’ side. “Can you stand? Did you get hurt at all?”

“I did, but… don’t worry,” Mercedes smiles up at her best friend. “You saved me.”

Annette goes a bit red in the face as she scratches the side of her head, before she helps Mercedes up.

“Well, I don’t want you worrying, either… I won’t let them touch you.” She turns back towards their combatants, thinking the combat will resume immediately, but Mercedes finds herself startled as Annette reaches over and intertwines her fingers with her own. “So… Stay right beside me, forever and ever, okay!?”

She finds herself rather comfortable with her own feelings, and perhaps that is due in part to her being nearly 28 years old, but she has no problem admitting to herself what the feeling in her chest is at seeing Annette come to save her.

 _“Oh, Annie…”_ Her cheeks, already warm from overexertion in the battle they’ve just been a part of, seem to heat up further. _“When this is over…”_

“I will.” She speaks aloud. “Always.”

_“…I think I’d like to take you up on that offer.”_

\-----

Annette can’t help thinking that she really wishes this battle would be over by now.

Their enemies are seemingly innumerable, coming in waves and waves unceasingly, and even if they’re still heavily winning this battle, their opponents are not willing to go down without a fight. She feels she should respect them for that, for their undaunting will, but she doesn’t. They’re just annoying, now, in their quest to demolish the history of the world by erasing it from existence. She will give them no credit for that.

She forces herself to key back into the battle happening around her.

She has been zoned out for quite a large portion of this fight, and though normally she would simply allow herself to drift aimlessly, she can afford too no longer. Standing before her are two of Nemesis’ Ten Elites; standing behind her is an injured Mercedes.

She’ll need to focus. She cannot allow them to touch her… her friend.

She’s strong, and she knows she’s strong. She’ll protect the people who matter to her, above all else. And if she needs to get her hands dirty to do that…

Then so be it.

She slings an ‘Excalibur’ towards Dominic and isn’t at all surprised that he’s able to dodge the blow. Still, she hadn’t been expecting him to call over a ghastly wyvern, and soar into the air atop it.

Below him, Lamine manages to get to her feet. She’s on her last legs, quite literally shaking as she manages to fire off an ‘Abraxas’, which narrowly misses her as she dodges to the left, using some of her wind magic to float upon the air for a moment.

She takes a shot at the swerving Dominic and manages to clip the tail of the beast he’s riding atop. The creature just barely manages to avoid spinning out, but it’s clear from the way its wings have stopped flapping nearly as gutsily that it’s hurt. Unfortunately for her, she’d been distracted, too distracted to notice the bolt of lightning threatening to crest down on her head.

Mercie is there to cover for her, though, stepping in front of her and blocking the magic with a ‘ward’ spell. Her legs buckle beneath her, and Annie is a second from propping her friend up herself when Mercie’s hand shoots out to stop her from approaching.

“I’m fine.” Her best friend assures her. “Don’t worry about me.”

Annette tries… but it’s a rather difficult thing.

They turn towards their respective opponents; and she notices that Dominic is circling the sky above her. He’s likely trying to stay out of range of her wind magic, and she can’t really fault that plan, given that it’s most certainly working. Any shot she fired out would be at best guesswork, and at worst a waste of magic.

But she has an idea of how to lure him down. Instead of firing off potshots at the air above her, she turns towards were Lamine is dueling Mercedes. She fires off a ‘Cutting Gale’ at the woman and watches as she’s blasted back. She can’t help but admire the fact that somehow, Lamine is still standing after the punishment she’s endured. She’d thought her nearly dead two or three spells to-the-face-ago.

She turns as she hears the sound of the wind howling, and sees that Dominic has swooped downwards, and is threatening to close the distance between them. Unfortunately for him, however, he’s flying towards her to hit her…

And he’s going in a straight line.

The shot she takes then is an easy one, and as her Excalibur annihilates the man atop his wyvern, she watches with no real glee as he goes flying off, and impacts into the earth beneath them, very clearly dead.

At that same moment, Mercedes dodges into Lamine’s guard, and fires off a point blank Ragnarok. It decimates whatever might’ve been left of the woman’s spirit, and her body falls to the floor, entirely inanimate.

Two shields dissolve from Nemesis’ body at the same time, which Annette imagines means that they’ve slayed their respective ancestors.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, before turning to her best friend with a wide smile, one which the woman returns very briefly, before she runs towards the downed form of her brother, Emile.

“Are you okay?” She asks him.

“Did you not ask me that already?” He talks shortly with the worried woman, earning him a stern glare as a reward. He seems to realize he should be a bit nicer a second later. “M-My apologies. I’m fine, truly. I’ll likely need to sit the rest of the battle out, but I don’t believe I’m in any danger.”

The woman lets out another breath as she takes a breath of abject relief, before turning now to Annette herself.

“Thank you for helping me, Annie.” She finds herself engrossed in the woman’s sunny smile. “You saved my life.”

She rubs the back of her neck, abashed at such direct praise. “Well, I just wanted to keep you safe, no matter what. You’re the most important person in my life, of course I wouldn’t let you get hurt!”

She realizes that probably came out a bit more romantic than she intended for it to when Mercedes blushes. 

“Eheh, well, I mean… that is to say…”

She hears Emile let out a loud groan.

“I don’t suppose the two of you could do this… elsewhere?” Her friend’s brother asks rater annoyedly. “Perhaps whilst not standing over my prone body?”

“Oh… Y-Yeah, sorry!”

They work on getting Emile back to the medical corps first and foremost. Very few of the medics themselves had been injured by Lamine’s assault, but unfortunately, there’s not really anybody available to operate on Emile, on account of the several knights who’ve been brought over from the front line, who’d taken the brunt of Lamine’s ‘Bolting’.

So, Mercedes ends up caring for her brother directly. His wounds are not direct, being caused by, if she’d seen it correctly, Lamine shattering her Gem of Rafail against her palm, unleashing the dark magics that had been held within. He’d taken the brunt of that attack, and still come out the other side alive. That in and of itself had been mightily impressive.

So, she’s not at all surprised that Mercedes has no real difficulty in healing him. She pumps a rather simple magical concoction into his body, one that will act as a booster to prop up what little remains of his own natural magic and keep him healthy.

When she’s finished working on her brother and begins to talk with one of the other nearby medics, Annette finds herself gradually drifting away, content to see that her best friend’s brother will pull through.

However, before she can get too far, she’s stopped in her tracks by Mercedes placing a hand on her arm and offering her a gentle smile.

“So… I wanted to ask you,” The woman’s face is dusted a faint pink. “What were you going to say back there?”

Annette finds herself stuttering nervously. “W-What do you mean?”

“Well, my brother interrupted you before you could clarify your thoughts. I felt I should let you speak them now.”

She opens her mouth and lets her lips flap uselessly for a moment.

Instead of pushing her to speak, Mercie instead stays silent, smiling genially in a way that tells her she can take all the time she needs.

“I… Mercie, I…” Her face feels like it’s the surface of the sun. “A-After this is all over, and… and uhm, the political climate eases up a bit… and only if you want to, I mean, you shouldn’t if you don’t want to, so-”

“Annie.” Mercedes cuts her off. “You don’t have to be so worried. Tell me.”

She finds herself biting her bottom lip. She doesn’t… she can’t just…

_“No… This is Mercie, not just some… some meanie! She’ll understand… even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she’ll let me down gently. I… I have to at least try.”_

“Once we’ve won and everything… would you like to go into the kingdom with me sometime… f-for dinner?” She can’t quite meet the woman’s eyes. “J-Just the two of us?”

She’s expecting a denial; not a particularly crass or rude one, but a denial, nonetheless. There’s simply no way Mercie could ever share her feelings… or, at least, that’s what she’s always told herself. It had been why she’d always put off asking out her best friend, even when everyone around here, the most adamant of which being the professor herself, had told her to just go for it.

_“No! I’ll… I’ll meet my rejection with pride!”_

She forces herself to look up, and see her best friend’s face. It is stark red, which would be a good sign if that hadn’t also been the telltale sign of embarrassment. Mercie’s probably just thinking of the best way to let her down gently, and oh goddess, she won’t want her to call her Mercie anymore after this, will she, and their friendship will be ruined, and–

She realizes she’s crying only as her best friend reaches across and wipes the tear from her face with her left thumb. It’s enough to cause her entire body to heat up, but the woman in front of her doesn’t seem to mind so much. Instead, she leans forward, to the point where their noses are scant centimeters from one another, and giggles rather sweetly before she whispers to her.

“You finally said it. I didn’t want to rush you, but even I must admit I was growing rather impatient. With today potentially being our last, I didn’t want to let you get away again.”

Annette’s face practically goes in up flames. She chooses to ignore that latter segment for now, assuming she’s just reading into things.

“You… you knew?”

Her friend’s gentle smile might be the only thing preventing her from dying of embarrassment.

“Yes, but I felt like it would be rude to deny you your opportunity to grow past your nerves, so… I didn’t do anything myself.”

Her throat clogs at those words. She finds herself reading into them… too much. She must be reading _too_ _much_ into them…

That had to be it.

…Right?

“Y-Yourself?”

“Yes,” Mercedes expression holds no sign of deceit. “Myself.”

Her brain is really struggling to think of a way that those words don’t combine together to mean what she _desperately_ hope they mean.

“Then… you mean…”

Her best friend’s hand on her cheek seems to cool her otherwise frantic nerves, though as the woman takes a step forward, it seems to cease functioning.

“Well, Annie… a dinner in the Kingdom, just the two of us?”

She leans forwards, and Annette finds herself mirroring the motion subconsciously.

“I think that sounds lovely.”

And her best friend locks their lips together.

She pulls away a moment or two later, but by that point, if Annette’s being honest, any conscious thought has long since left her. It is all she can do to turn her head to the sound of a loud sigh, as she sees Mercedes’ brother covering his face with his arm.

“Really? Right now?” Emile groans out. “Spare me, please, I’m laying right here, lacking any ability to move.”

She giggles… and mutters a quiet apology under her breath as she leans back in for a second kiss.

Like Mercie says, if this is it; if they’re to lose today, to be erased from time itself, then… well…

She wants her feelings to be unequivocally known.

“Ugh… I hate you both.”

…Though she does feel a bit bad for poor Emile.

\-----

Byleth lets out a horribly tired sigh as she dashes forward, and into the final main line of the Agarthans.

Just beyond her, perhaps fifty or so meters away, is the still body of Nemesis, wearing upon him now only three shields. From off in the distance, she hears more than she sees the sound of Failnaught firing off, and watches as another of those shields breaks in front of her. Only two remain now, Claude having felled his ancestor, Riegan, with some help from the other Golden Deer.

First, it had been Catherine working together with Ashe, striking down Charon in tandem, then Felix and Flayn taking on Fraldarius. The latter had returned to her divine form, which is another addition to the very rare ‘things Byleth has never seen happen before’ list, but one she certainly isn’t complaining about.

Finally, Annette and Mercedes had struck down both Lamine and Dominic. Their combined abilities more than a match for their dark counterparts.

That leaves only Goneril and Blaiddyd.

She tries to locate the former and spots him rather easily thanks to Freikugel’s rather unique silhouette. It helps also that there are two of them in the nearby vicinity, as Hilda has come face to face with her ancestor, and with Claude, Marianne, and the rest of the Golden Deer behind her.

The battle is not a particularly lengthy one. Hilda’s strikes are harder than her ancestors, and though he might be the hardier of the two, it matters not when she’s being provided support from both a mage and an archer, both of whom outrange their opponent to the point that he cannot even get in a hit.

As he too falls, and only one barrier is left on Nemesis’ body, a shockwave shoots out across the very earth they stand upon. It is all Byleth can do to stay standing as most around her fall to their knees. She looks up at the cause of the quake… and sees her worst fears have come to life.

Nemesis’ neck cracks. His hands follow, as if breaking free of a stone encasement surrounding his body. His legs are next, stepping forward, and then his body, which stretches as if to get any remaining aches or pains out. Finally, his head comes last, his eyes surveying the battlefield as if to get a grasp of what’s happening.

And then, without any further fanfare, they lock onto Byleth’s own.

She will admit without any shame that she feels a kernel of fear build within her breast at that. His eyes, normally a glowing red, are now the same as Kronya’s had been under the control of both Thales and the blood of Seiros in her veins, a blazing orange that seems to be lit aflame, and they stare unabashedly into what feels like her very soul.

…But she will not allow fear to control her here. She has felled Nemesis more than a few times. Not as many as someone like Thales, or Edelgard, or Dimitri, or any of the other enemies or allies she’s faced on the battlefield, but she has found herself locking blades with him many a time.

That he has been augmented, that he is likely even stronger than Kronya had been during their duel in the caverns below Shambala… That matters not. If she wants to save Sothis, then her only option is to win.

And yet, as Nemesis blitzes forward, utterly eviscerating the first few soldiers who try and stop him, and his sword is seconds away from meeting hers, Byleth finds only a single remark coming to her mind.

_“He’s much, **much** stronger.”_

His Sword of the Creator clashes against Athame with a mighty crash, and it’s all she can do to bring her blade up to connect with his a second time, before she realizes dueling the man with a dagger is simply not a realistic prospect.

She draws out the battered Sword of Seiros from along her hip and brings it into her right hand, swapping it with Athame. It is slightly sturdier in terms of construction and gives her a lot more leverage to work with thanks to its length. She keeps Athame in her left hand, using it more as a parrying knife than anything offensive.

And yet, even still, Nemesis forces her back. His next attack is enough to send her sailing backwards, and she’s lucky she lands in a fairly deep pile of muddy dirt to cushion her fall, otherwise she may’ve broken something debilitating.

Nemesis says nothing as he walks forward, and it is in that moment that Byleth’s realizes he likely can’t say a thing. Thales has taken away his ability to speak, and likely even to think, in order to turn him into a completely unfeeling, unquestioning killing machine. It is not as if he needs anything more than the instinct to kill anything trying to kill him, and the instruction to rewind time to the end of his lifetime in order to shake off those restraints, either.

Once he rewinds, he will be back in his body from 1200 years ago, and, unfortunately, he will have Sothis within him, that power more than enough to defeat Seiros and the First Emperor’s armies at Tailtean Plains. Not to mention that he will have his _mind_ from 1200 years ago as well, though likely with some choice memories, the one thing that carries over through resets, that Thales has implanted to make him do the Agarthan’s bidding one last time.

If he’d been less of a bastard in his life, she might have felt some sympathy for the man. As things are, however, she’s too busy focusing on just how to kill him to worry about anything like that.

She parries his next strike with Athame, and lashes out with her flamberge, trying to score a cut along the warriors face. When her sword connects with his skin, however, it merely bounces off, as if striking iron or steel. She recognizes the feeling not as the barrier the Ten Elites have erected around him, but as being the same as when she’d fought Kronya’, the woman’s tails having been augmented to be nearly indestructible.

…And Thales had done that to Nemesis’ entire body.

She swears as the window she’d thought she had suddenly disappears, and she’s left in point-blank range with the King of Liberation. He uses the back of his left hand as a makeshift mace to pummel the left side of her cheek, the limb itself having been adorned with metal and magics, and it’s more than enough to have her seeing stars as she’s knocked aside.

She tries valiantly to recover, but she’s still reeling from that last hit, and by the time Nemesis’ Sword of the Creator comes around again, only a second or two later, she doesn’t quite have the mental capacity to do anything but sit there.

 _“Oh…”_ She comes to terms with what’s happening a scant moment before it does. _“I’m going to die.”_

She sees Sothis’ face, smiling over at her a bit amusedly, laughing at some silly little joke.

She bends backwards at a near impossible angle, snaking underneath the hulking man’s blow, before jumping up and kicking off of Nemesis’ body to create space. A second later, when her instinct lets go of the reigns of her body, she wonders just how the hell she pulled off a maneuver she hasn’t been able to accomplish in months. Really, though, she already knows.

_“Sothis is waiting for me. I can’t die. I **won’t** die.”_

Still, if there’s one thing that’s become clear after fighting Nemesis for a minute or so, it’s that she can’t win this alone…

Which is why it’s a good thing that two figure step up beside her.

“I see you’re having some trouble, kid.” The scraggly looking man off to her left says with a fake bravado. “Seems you could use some help.”

“As per usual, all enemies who raise their swords against the church must be culled,” The seemingly gentle woman to her right speaks with a very real malice in her tone. “And though I’ve dealt with this particular heretic before… I believe I will _relish_ the chance to kill him again.”

Her father, Jeralt, draws his blade, and Rhea holds out her left hand towards Byleth, as if expecting something.

“My sword, if you would.”

Perhaps it is the general energy of the day’s events affecting her, but she genuinely didn’t make the connection that the Sword of Seiros would somehow be Seiros’ sword.

“Uh, sure,” She passes the beaten-up blade to the Archbishop, who catches it rather casually.

“Ah… It’s been an awfully long time; I wonder if I’ve gotten rusty?” The woman does a few spins with the item, and from the winds that carry off of her fake strikes alone, Byleth can tell she’s as formidable as she’d been 1200 years ago. “Well… Perhaps not.”

“What’s our objective here, By?” Her father asks her, and she only then remembers they’ve got an ancient bandit king to kill.

“We stall this asshole until someone else defeats the last of the Ten Elites. At that point, Nemesis can be injured. Until then… we’ve just gotta’ hold out.”

Both Rhea and her father nod, though a wry smile shows up on the latter’s face.

“Y’know kid, I don’t believe we’ve ever fought side-by-side together in a life-or-death scenario, have we?”

Funnily enough, as she thinks back into her memories, she doesn’t think they’ve ever gotten the opportunity in all of her lifetimes, or, at the very least, if they had, she’d forgotten. Perhaps when he’d been training her as a child, over six thousand years ago, but, well, he’d remember that if they had, so she imagines they haven’t. She says as much to him, and watches as his smile grows even more confident, and he takes a single step towards their foe.

“In that case…” He takes a fighting stance.

“Let me show you some of why they call me the ‘Blade Breaker’.”

\-----

Dimitri can’t help thinking as he surveys the battlefield that things are going both better and worse than he’d expected.

They’re going better in the sense that they are most certainly winning, and that, in a normal scenario, they’d likely claim victory in a few hours, if that. They are going worse because, unfortunately, Nemesis has awoken, and judging from the fact that he is dueling Jeralt, Rhea, and their Professor at the same time, he is no pushover. Not to mention that they have no idea when Nemesis will gain the ability to rewind to the end of his life and erase them all from time.

He’s unafraid to admit that his stress levels have seen better days.

He knows their mission, however; they’re not in charge of fighting Nemesis, but of eliminating his Ten Elites, who protect him with their very beings. It is only when they are felled that the path to victory will open up for them.

As one of the Supreme Commanders in this fight, it is his job to make sure that happens.

He surveys the battlefield as best he can, searching for the final of the Ten Elites. He has no real idea who he’s looking for – the other Elites having all been of different professions and classifications – but he imagines the man, or woman, will least give off a sinister aura.

When he finally spots said aura, emanating from off of a warrior atop a pitch-black horse, he finds himself rather confused as he feels a tug towards the man. It feels like an invisible string is connecting them, binding them to one another.

He has an inkling of just who that man might be.

He approaches the man with his battalion at his back and finds himself in an upward battle with the last remnants of the Agarthan forces. They come hard and fast, and despite being outnumbered in the general battle, here, they outnumber Dimitri’s own forces roughly three to one.

Or, at least, they do until his own reinforcements arrive. Blitzing in from the side, the empire soldiers made quick work of the opponents flank. The Agarthans try to fall backwards, but it’s clear that they’re all aggression, with no real thought to their actions. A good half are wiped away by the time he turns to the commander who’d come to back him up, and when he does, he regards the woman standing there.

“Figured you could use some help.” El smirks over at him, and he returns her expression with a grateful one of his own.

He smiles back as he sees Hubert, he himself commanding a good half of El’s troops, annihilate a good ten or so Agarthans himself.

“Appreciated.” He responds simply enough.

Their numbers are about equal with that of the Agarthans now, though, just as he’s thinking that a good chunk of his own battalion is hit by the dark rider’s magic. It coils across his forces, ripping their lives from out of them, and it’s all he can do to grit his teeth and charge in faster, knowing he, at least, can do nothing for those who’ve already fallen.

Their units are in sync, he and El herself charging into the fray ahead of their troops, and their relics clash with the swords, axes, and spears of the Agarthan warriors. It is only as the dark rider approaches, however, and takes a swing at Dimitri with his own lance, that he’s able to confirm the connection they share.

This man wields Areadbhar, the same as him.

_“So… this is Blaiddyd, then.”_

It is in that moment, that scant piece of time in which he’s distracted, that the warrior in front of him raises his hand and directs it right at Dimitri’s heart. He raises his own lance to cut the limb from Blaiddyd’s body, but before he can, he’s intercepted by an Agarthan warrior. The man is suicidal, surely, for the position he’s put himself in is one that Dimitri’s easily able to turn around in his favor, carving the man apart with his spear a second later.

But…

He’s too late to intercept Blaiddyd’s magic.

He sees the spell coming, hears El call his name, and flinches, preparing for the inevitable pain.

It never comes.

\-----

_The small cabin he’d holed up inside shook with the sounds of thunderous hooves striking the earth just beyond it._

_He raised the makeshift weapon he’d created in his right hand and brought it to bear in front of him. Just off to his left laid the fallen bodies of two kingdom soldiers, those who’d been sent to watch this particular town. They’d all since been killed or gone away now, nearly a month after their initial attack, but a few stragglers had been left behind to keep the ‘peace’._

_More like throw their weight around on those who didn’t deserve it. Having lost everything, anyone who he’d ever loved, he’d been one of the first to sign up with the resistance, to try and kill the bastards who’d raped and pillaged their land. His life had already ended… so he might as well use the last dregs for something._

_They’d have their revenge… and they’d had it. The kingdom soldiers tormenting their village had been killed to the last._

_But it could never be that simple. Now, Faerghus would send in the very best to come in and exterminate the ‘rebellion’ as they’d called them._

_They were defenders of their own homeland, a homeland ransacked by **them** , in what way they were ‘rebelling’, he would never know._

_Idly, he wondered what the gods must’ve thought of them to betray their people in such a way. What’d happened, what they’d done to deserve this._

_Such thoughts left him as the door was blasted open._

_In stepped six guards, armed to the teeth with weaponry the likes of which he’d never seen. Gleaming silver, polished obsidian, the kinds of things reserved for royalty, or those who’d associate with them._

_He realized that was exactly who these people were as the next figure stepped into the room._

_The teenager who entered, for he could not have been any older than 13, was crowned and adorned in insignia’s and garments depicting royalty. Given that the rest of the Kingdom nobles had been slain by some unknown force, and he would forever hold onto the fact that it had not been **their** people, he must have been…_

_“Just as we thought, Dimitri,” One of the nearby guardsmen spoke, his eyes set upon him with only anger and rage inside of them. “It seems there were a couple pests still roaming about.”_

_Hearing those words, he felt a fire fill his breast, and stood to his full height. He’d always been naturally tall, and he thanked the gods for that once more as one or two of the soldiers looked at one another nervously._

_But one of the many wounds on his body cried out in pain, and he found himself hunching over, gritting his teeth together as he forced himself to take a step forward._

_“You… you bastards…” He muttered under his breath and watched as the soldiers fanned out to surround him. “You invaded our home… you killed our people, stained our culture, trampled our pride… and you think you have **any right** to call **us pests!?** ”_

_One of the soldiers snarled. “King-slayers shall receive no mercy.”_

_So, he’d be murdered over a rumor, then? Just like everyone else, it seemed._

_Rage boiled in his stomach as he drew his axe around, and pointed it forward, not at any of the common rabble, but at the teenaged prince himself, who stood between them all._

_“I will… kill you!” He shouted. “You who took my family from me! You who sicked your men upon our lands for **nothing!** ” He charged forward, bringing his axe around, uncaring of the soldiers who charged at him. “I’ll kill every last one of you!”_

_But as he advanced, the one named Dimitri drew a lance from off of his back and charged in as well. Using the range of his weapon, he effortlessly disarmed him, and knocked his legs out from under him, before pushing him to the ground with a loud thump._

_He supposed that made sense. He’d never been a warrior. His family had been a peaceful lot, never even wanting to yell, let alone take up arms against someone else. He’d been taught to fight with an axe over the course of a week, at best, by the resistance fighters._

_It was natural he’d lose in a fight with a beast._

_And yet, instead of allowing his soldiers to simply kill him where he laid, Dimitri held his hand aloft, staying them._

_“Don’t. I… I want to speak with him.”_

_“Your highness, he is an enemy assailant! He killed two men–”_

_“Two men I tried to stop from being sent here in the first place on account of their conduct.” He silenced the dissenter. “Even if we are set to absorb the rest of the country within the Kingdom in the next few months, I won’t allow them to do so in a way that belies my father’s decency. I won’t stand for it.”_

_“Y-yes.” The man bowed. “My apologies, sir.”_

_The boy nodded. “You’re fine. But please try and contain your biases. I know for a fact that Duscur wasn’t responsible for my father’s death… he’s told me as much.”_

_“Sir?”_

_Whatever it was that Dimitri might’ve said in response didn’t appear to matter, for as he knelt down before him, and gazed into his eyes, the young blonde boy gave him a soft, sad smile._

_“You say you lost your family, yes? I… for that, I am sorry. I… I have lost my family as well” The teen held a hand in front of his heart, and there was something about the boy that made him believe the emotion there was genuine. “There’s nothing I can do for your family… nor truly anything I can do for mine… but… I promise.”_

_He looked him in the eye, a hard, honest stare._

_“I will earn your people’s justice as best I possibly can, just as I will earn mine own’s.”_

_And once more, he believed him._

_“I’m sorry for the way the soldiers treated this village. This is… a truly terrible affair. I… I would not have it if it were at all possible, but…” He reached out his hand. “Would you come with me? Please… I’ve… I’ve been unable to do anything else for anyone here… allow me to at least save you.”_

_Something about the boy’s words resonated in his heart, something about the smile on his face that should’ve been innocent, but wasn’t, something about the hand outstretched that looked unguarded, but was ready for his rejection, ready to answer with steel if needed…_

_And before he knew it, he’d reached out his own to meet it._

_“Alright.”_

_Dimitri’s face lit up, and he shook his hand quite fervently as he let out a sigh of relief._

_“Thank you. Truly, you’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”_

_It was only after they’d exited out of the small log cabin, and onto the back of the carriage that’d carried the young prince and his men here, that the blonde teen addressed him again._

_“Uhm… if I might ask, what is your name?”_

_He was hesitant to give it, but eventually acquiesced._

_“Dedue.”_

\-----

Dedue can quite literally feel his skin charring as he falls to his knees, panting for breath.

He can hear voices call something, perhaps to him, even, but he’s far more focused on the warrior riding towards him on horseback, with his dark copy of Areadbhar poised to cut down at his wounded form.

A second Areadbhar rises to meet it, and the clash of the two relics produces a resonant noise he is fairly certain he will likely never hear again after today.

“Dedue!” Dimitri screams, keying him back into the present. “Dedue! Are you alright!?”

He finds he doesn’t have the strength to answer. He’s never been much good at taking magical attacks, and that particular blow had been harsh, to say the least. That he’s standing at all is perhaps a miracle in and of itself.

In front of him, Dimitri slashes at the legs of the dark rider’s horse, and the beast tips forward, spilling its rider onto the ground. It’s a testament to the warrior’s skill that that does not signal the end of the fight, but instead a continuation on the ground.

Dimitri is the better fighter of the two, that much is certain, but it’s closer than Dedue feels it has any right to be. Blaiddyd is no pushover, and Dedue knows that for having taken a round of the man’s ‘Sagittae’ dark magic.

But even still, his highness’ is edging out a victory. It is to be a slow and hard-fought one, as even as the two fighters are, but Dimitri’s strikes are harsher than his opponents, forcing him back further and further. Eventually, there will be nowhere to run.

It is at that moment the Dedue allows himself to fall to the ground.

He’s panting harshly, barely able to breathe past the pain in his chest. At the sound of a noise coming from in front of him, he looks up, and sees an Agarthan warrior with a massive axe, poised to cut into his skull.

Before he can, however, he is bisected at the waist, and falls in two pieces to the ground as his savior kneels down in front of him, observing his wounds worriedly.

“I cannot find fault in your loyalty,” Edelgard, the Adrestian Empress, kneels over him, doing her best to look at his wounds. “But I feel I must advise you to take better care of yourself.”

His lips curl upwards ever so slightly at those words. “I… would do that again without hesitation if need be.”

The woman beside him shakes her head again, placing her hands upon his body and beginning to channel a healing magic. If he’s correct, said spell is ‘Recover’ a terribly powerful, if admittedly limited magic. 

“Why?” She asks after a minute spent in silence. “Do you value Dimitri’s life that highly? Is it because he is king? Is it because he’s your friend?”

Dedue shakes his head, for it is not that simple.

“His majesty is not a friend. He is the hope for the future. If something were to happen to him, then the justice of Duscur would be forever lost.”

Edelgard gives a hum of dissatisfaction.

“I don’t think that’s it at all.” She argues with him. “What’s the real reason?”

He had thought that the real reason if he’s being entirely honest with himself. He searches inside of himself to see if there’s anything else and finds… _something._

“His majesty… stood in front of me, once…” He remembers back to that time in the cabin. “He… he saw in me something… that I could never understand… and for that, I… will be his shield, his bulwark, no matter what is aimed at him.” He meets the woman’s eyes, finally confident in his conviction. “I will fight his battles. Always.”

Once more, the woman doesn’t seem to be satisfied with that.

“And what about your life?” She questions him. “What about your goals and aspirations? Do you not wish for justice for the Duscur people yourself? For what the Agarthans did to them?”

He shakes his head; the woman before him is not getting the point.

“That goal will be accomplished as long as his highness rises to his rightful throne and enacts the reforms he seeks. All I must do is carry him there. Whether or not I survive matters not.”

Edelgard sighs out frustratedly, as if trying to explain something to a particularly unruly child.

“No, you’re mistaken. Justice for Duscur is _your_ goal.” She practically yells at him. “You are aligned with Dimitri because you share that goal, not because it is his alone. You want to keep Dimitri alive because he is your friend, one with whom you share your ideals.”

She gets right in his face.

“You are equals.”

He cannot help it; he looks away.

“I… am not his equal.”

Evidently, Edelgard disagrees. The look on her face is one of remembrance, of peering back into her past, of thinking of how she used to be.

“I have been where you are… thinking my life has no meaning in comparison to others… I even tried to get myself killed at Dimitri’s hand… to free him of me, and the burden I’d placed upon the world.” She smiles nostalgically, despite the event having happened only two months prior. “He would not have it. He would rather he be struck down, than have to injure someone he loves… and I believe you’re counted there too.”

“Me!?” Dedue’s speaks disbelievingly. “He traveled the entire world for you, all to save you from the fate you’d chosen for yourself.”

“And he’ll stake a piece of his kingly duties for your sake as well. He will not rest until the people of Duscur are pardoned.” Edelgard looks to him smugly, having caught him. “Is that not similar, at least? Is not his willingness to accomplish your dream an equivalent to that?”

Dedue… he could see how she might think that, but–

“I know you think that in comparison to his own, your life has no value… but believe me when I say that would forever wound him if he knew you thought that.” She smiled genially down at him as she finished healing his body, and he experimentally moved his arms and legs, finding them responsive. “He cares for you as he does anyone else. He would not want you to die… not even at the cost of his own life.”

He nods, still almost in a trance.

“I am not asking you to change who you are, or to not defend him with everything you have, far from it, but…”

He meets her eyes for perhaps the first time.

“Value yourself as he does.”

His eyes widen as the truth of the woman’s words hit him, and he finds himself forced to look away from her. Still, as he takes a moment to process what she’s said, he acknowledges that…

“I… perhaps you are right.” He looks down at the ground below him as she pulls him into a sitting position. “I… I will try.”

Edelgard gives a smile almost entirely unlike her.

“That’s all I ask. I don’t want one of his closest friends to get themselves killed for an asinine reason.”

He cannot help feeling that even before, his reasons had not been asinine, but he decides to not bring that up.

Just beyond them, he sees as Dimitri finishes his fight. His lance comes around and slashes Blaiddyd’s legs out from under him, before, with a twirl of Areadbhar, he stabs it down into the man’s chest, ending the final of the elites then and there.

In that exact moment, a black energy shoots out from Nemesis. Their teacher, her father, and the Archbishop herself are all blown back by the vortex, though, from the looks of them, they don’t mind the reprieve.

Still, as the energy gathers in the sky, and the entire battlefield turns to look at it…

Dedue gets the feeling things are only just now reaching a climax.

\-----

Byleth takes a second to breathe, which is something she hasn’t really done for over fifteen minutes.

Just in front of her, being swallowed within a black mist, the King of Liberation is now unprotected. All ten of his Elites have fallen, leaving only the man himself standing in their way, well, along with a smattering of other Agarthans forces, but that’s beside the point.

She takes a second to observe what’s in front of her. Swirling within that black miasma are offshoots of bright green energy, like Sothis’ power is intermixing within Nemesis’ own. It makes sense, given her patron goddesses’ presence inside of Nemesis’ heart, but it is still rather frightening to see.

Both Jeralt and Rhea seem to share rather similar emotions, the former grimacing as he watches the dark display, and the latter grinding her teeth together in rage at the misuse of her mother’s dominion.

Idly, she reaches behind her back with her left hand, and feels for the device hanging there that Hanneman had created for her sake… a device capable of transferring a crest stone. It is her hope, all that she has.

Despite everything going on, despite the battle being fought for the fate of the world all around them, everyone present, including the Agarthans themselves, pauses as Nemesis’ steps from out of the haze.

He looks no different… But the air around him has changed.

Soon… There’s something about him that just tells her that, stating it as fact, as if undebatable.

His power to rewind time itself… he is close to gaining control of it.

He will utilize it _soon_.

Before that happens… They have to manage to defeat him.

Rhea wastes no time going on the offensive now that Nemesis has lost his invulnerability. She charges into the fray, performing acrobatic maneuvers that make even Byleth jealous. It is clear that age has not slowed her down one bit, though that may, admittedly, have something to do with the fact that she is technically immortal.

Still, whereas before, 1200 years ago, Nemesis had been unable to answer those maneuvers, here, he has no such issues. He’s not nearly as mobile as Rhea is, but his sword is as a flurry of bone, parrying every attack from the woman once known as Seiros, and even landing a hit or two along her arm and thigh.

When Rhea bounces back to them, panting slightly, it is clear that she had been the loser of their minor duel.

“I’ve no idea how, but he’s gotten better. _Much_ better.” She clicks her tongue along the roof of her mouth. “We’ll need to work together to have a chance.”

She and Jeralt both nod, having already expected that to be the case from their sparring earlier. Sure, there’d been no point in taking the offensive before when he’d been technically invulnerable, but even if she’d wanted to attack him, she’d barely been able to get a strike into his guard to do so, let along to actually land a killing blow. 

As things are, this isn’t going to be easy, that much is certain.

An ache cries out from her chest, and she swears as she feels every function of her body briefly skip. Her heart, for a moment, stops beating. Her kidneys stop functioning, her lungs stop taking air. They all start up again a moment later, but it’s clear to her what’s happening.

Her body is dying. As things are, she has barely an hour to get Sothis back, or…

Or her mother’s flame shall dim entirely, and she will die no matter what.

“You alright?” Her father asks as he puts a hand on her shoulder.

“M’fine.” She tries to shake him off, her head still spinning.

“Shit, you’re not alright, are you,” He looks down at her, even as Rhea charges back in, buying them a few seconds. “What’s wrong?”

She feels there’s no real harm in telling him and goes along and does so. The look on his face is one she’s she seen but a scant few times before, a look of abject worry, mixed with terror, and fear. And yet, a moment later, he seems to shove that feeling aside. Instead, he fixes her with a stern look, the kind only a parent can ever really wear and not have it look stupid.

“Byleth listen to me. If there’s one thing I believe in today, it’s that we’re going to win. But more than that, I believe in **_you_**.” He stares into her eyes, and secretly, she wonders what he sees in them. “You won’t fail. You will succeed. You _will_ get her back. Got it?”

His tone leaves no room for doubt.

“Got it.” She answers with a small smile. “Thanks, dad. For… everything. I love you.”

He gives an almost nonbelieving laugh.

“I love you too, but honestly, what’s that all about? Sounds awfully final.”

She gives him an honest expression; this is no time to lie. “Just in case.”

He grimaces slightly, but says nothing else as he bends down, and gives her a quick hug. Though it means the world to her, she knows she can’t linger within it long. Rhea is losing, slowly, steadily, gracefully, but losing, nonetheless. She cannot keep this up forever.

She will not have to.

As Nemesis brings the Sword of the Creator around, and slashes out at Rhea, two blades rise to meet his own. They knock it aside, and as it’s coils return to the undead king, he looks over them with no emotion at all. Normally, she figures he’d at least sneer, perhaps give an angry growl, or even say a few words. Instead, he remains entirely silent.

“Alright…” She says as she looks at her compatriots, who nod back at her as they retake battle stances.

“Let’s win this.”

Jeralt goes in first, driving ahead so as to give them a window into the fight. She’s seen her father fight before; several times, as a matter of fact, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him _try._ Beating up on bandits, or on a few Agarthan warriors in Remire Village, is entirely different to fighting for one’s life against one of the strongest combatants to ever live.

She wishes she could afford to simply sit there and watch; the battle itself is mesmerizing, but her father isn’t winning on his own. Athame blocks Nemesis’ Sword of the Creator, and the Sword of Seiros slips across one of the few spaces of exposed skin on Nemesis’ body, striking a shallow (perhaps a quarter of an inch deep) cut along the man’s thigh.

If such a wound is slowing him down… well, Nemesis doesn’t show it. He’s back on the offensive a moment later, using his buffed up left arm as a makeshift mace, just as he had when fighting her one-on-one earlier, and swinging it around with reckless abandon. He must understand somewhere in his corrupted mind that they do not possess the ability to sever the limb, and so he’s in no danger by utilizing it as he is.

It strikes against her father’s shoulder, and the cracking sound she hears has her wincing terribly, though her father doesn’t let the pain show on his face as much as she can tell he must be feeling. He lets his left arm hang at his side, mostly inanimate, and likely broken at the shoulder.

Rhea takes a hit next, the sword of the creator’s whip-like form slashing across her stomach, just barely avoiding gutting her. She’s able to heal the wound, but it’s clear she’s moving slower, with less gusto and force, when she rejoins the battle a minute or two later.

Another thing is clear; they will lose.

Even vulnerable to their attacks, Nemesis is still far too strong for them to reliably hit. His body is like steel even when they do, and even strikes that should be leaving deep gashes instead barely leave a scratch. They cannot wound him, not like this, that much, at least, is mightily clear.

And just as she thinks that thought, just as Nemesis is walking towards them, flipping his sword around and threatening to cut down on all of them… an arrow hits his right hand.

It does not pierce into his skin, no, like every other blow that had hit the undead bandit that day, it bounces off. But it’s enough to distract the man for half a second, long enough to buy someone else a miniscule moment…

One which two mages use to their advantage.

Twin spells, one ‘Excalibur’ and one ‘Ragnarök’ hit Nemesis at the same time. They light up his body, scything flames ripping through the cloth covering him. When he emerges from the fire, his body itself is mostly untouched, but it’s clear that, at the very least, he’s quite annoyed.

Byleth finds that fact lifts her spirits just a bit, at the very least.

Three new figures stand beside them, and another charges in, preying on the moment of annoyance from Nemesis to try and score a cut across his shoulder. The woman’s sword collides with his armor, but it does leave a mighty gash in the metal as she runs past him.

“Hello, Professor,” Mercedes says as she smiles over at her. “Sorry we’re so late. I’m afraid Annie and I were distracted, somewhat.”

“M-Mercie! Maybe don’t say all of that!” The girl turns to her, blushing madly. “S-sorry, Professor, just… ignore what she said. We’re here to back you up!”

Byleth gets some idea of what said ‘distraction’ must’ve been but decides not to judge them for inappropriate conduct in the middle of a warzone, on account of the fact that none of them are sure if they’ll be erased from time by the end of the hour.

“I had a bit of a rough time with my ancestor, but me and Ashe here managed.” Catherine grins her way, breaking away from Nemesis to join them. “Still, I kind of expected you to have already handled this, you guys are getting your asses beat over here.”

Rhea looks the woman’s way. “What was that Catherine dear?”

The blonde’s face blanches. “Er… nothing, Lady Rhea…”

“That’s what I thought you’d said.”

Ashe, who stands just beside Catherine, giggles near-silently as the woman shoots him a small glare.

Nemesis makes to round on them, take advantage of their brief moment of levity, but two more weapons block his Sword of the Creator’s advance. Twin spears, both Relics of the Nabateans, collide with his own.

“Hey, teach,” Sylvain winks at her. “How’re you doing this fine afternoon?”

“Would you focus!” Ingrid yells at the boy as they push Nemesis back. “This is kind of a big deal!”

The wannabe Casanova winces. “You’re right, my bad.”

The two manage to stagger the King of Liberation, and though they cannot manage to land a hit, the next set of reinforcements has no such issues. Another spear sneaks its way into Nemesis’ guard, and barely manages an actual strike, one that has even Nemesis reeling. Even as he tries to follow up with another attack, an axe-wielding knight gets in his way, blocking the blow, and a far faster axe-wielding woman blitzes in from behind, cutting at the bandit’s ankles.

“My apologies for taking so long to assist, Professor,” Dimitri speaks as he falls into their little line of soldiers, along with Dedue and Edelgard. “We’ve been rather tied up with our own affairs, I’m afraid.”

“You’re fine,” She smiles at him. “Thanks for the back-up.”

“Well, then.” Edelgard speaks as she cracks her neck. “My final revenge upon the Agarthans. I must say… it feels good.”

Dedue raises his axe, and points it towards the enemy forces.

“To those who broke my homeland in twain… who were the reason my countrymen, my family, were slaughtered in droves, I will be the light that ends your darkness.” Dedue gives a miniscule smile, one that seems so significant on his normally blank face. “And then, perhaps… I shall stand beside you, your highness.”

Dimitri’s eyes are wide, but the smile that blossoms forth on his face is far wider. “I’d love that, my friend.”

Just as she’s sure no one else will come and reinforce them, a massive fireball rains from the sky, aimed at Nemesis’ form. The undead king dodges sideways, narrowly evading the burning ball of rock which annihilates the landscape he’d been stood upon moments prior.

As a massive figure lands just to their right, Byleth looks upon the feathered beast with wide eyes.

This… is Flayn.

Atop her, sliding off of her back and looking a bit nauseous, is Felix. The man pants slightly, clearly quite overwhelmed by his first flight.

The rest of the group look equally as overwhelmed, though she feels that’s for rather understandable reasons.

“S-sorry, Felix,” The girl mumbles out through her maw, and Goddess, it’s odd to watch a dragon mumble. “Didn’t mean to shake you around so much.”

Felix looks like he wants to say it’s fine, but he’s too busy dry-heaving on the ground to get the words out.

A moment later, Flayn lets out an eep, and the magic that’d been sustaining her transformation fluctuates. It fades as she hits the ground, now once again very human, and _very_ exhausted.

“Er… poor timing on my part, there.” She smiles up at Byleth as she rushes over to check on her. “It… probably would’ve been nice to have a dragon for this, huh?”

She cannot deny that.

Rhea smiles as she looks to the girl, having joined them. “Do not worry. If we are in need of a dragon, then I will fulfill that role.”

Flayn nods, seemingly satisfied with that, as Seteth, who’s just arrived, comes and picks her up, taking her away from the battlefield itself.

She shakes her head, smiling as she sees even more allies appearing. First, an arrow caked in fury and death strikes Nemesis’ shin, cutting into it and forcing him to kneel, which allows a hit from above by a lazy, pink-haired warrior. The cut itself does not go too deep, but that hardly matters when Nemesis’ cannot even get a hit in edge wise. Before he can manage to move, he’s been blown back by Raphael’s fists, and another volley of arrows, from both Claude and Ignatz, strike true. Lorenz is right behind them, as is Leonie, who quickly fangirls at seeing her father actively fighting, and shoots Jeralt a winning smile. Lysithea and Marianne reinforce from the rear, each wielding their own magics and dark magics, and their efforts are more than enough to force the King of Liberation back.

Another volley of magics hits him as Hubert comes to reinforce his majesty, and the rest of the Black Eagles are not far behind. Bernadetta and Petra go first with bows and blades, and Ferdinand is close behind. Lindhardt and Caspar join in, though the former seems like he’s just about done with this whole ‘war’ thing, and Byleth can’t blame him. Dorothea and Edelgard collapse in simultaneously, and as the former staggers Nemesis, the latter earns their first real strike of the battle, a clean, deep cut across Nemesis’ chest with Aymr’s ‘Raging Storm’.

Nemesis actually yells as he’s forced backwards, and nearly all of them let out a raucous cheer at seeing that. The King of Liberation has been stricken for the first time, he’s shown weakness, shown he can be defeated. Almost… almost. They’re so close to the end, they can taste it…

Which is perhaps why it doesn’t at all surprise Byleth when the man reaches out both of his hands, and, with a mighty roar, unleashes a black wave of energy.

Said wave utterly eviscerates them. It’s clearly not a killing strike on any of their forces, but more something meant for crowd control. The Black Eagles, the Golden Deer, and the Blue Lions all fall, though none look too terribly injured.

The real problem is that she recognizes what he’s doing. Nemesis is buying himself space and time. Both of which will allow him to focus his power, to get closer to the proverbial end. She watches in panic as he curls his arms in front of his chest, channeling power within himself.

The feeling within her is familiar…

 _Terrifyingly_ familiar.

She moves before anyone else, breaking forward to try and reach him in time. She feels the universe itself begin to converge upon Nemesis’ body, sees as he’s about to rewind…

And then watches as nothing happens.

The relief she wants to feel is radically overshadowed by the knowledge within her that she must still reach Nemesis. If she doesn’t… something. Something is telling her to get to him, to make it to him, to stop him…

She has a feeling she knows just _who_ it is.

She charges him, trying to make it into range to stop whatever it is he’s planning. She realizes as she’s moving that several others are at her side. Dimitri, Edelgard, Claude, and Rhea, along with a smattering of other students, charge with her.

She can see as Nemesis’ expression becomes one of desperation, can see as his eyes frantically search for a way out of his current situation, can see as he doesn’t find anything, and, instead of looking out any longer, focuses inwards.

It is in that moment that a feeling washes over her, and over the world itself. It is one that is nearly unfamiliar to her, and yet, at the same time, she recognizes it, can barely place it among the millions of memories swimming through her skull.

And then, in that moment, as their blades, arrows, and magics are mere inches from Nemesis’ form, the world itself shatters.

\-----

She is alive. That, at least, she knows for certain.

As her eyelids peer open, and she looks out upon the grassy field before her, she can’t help her eyes widening as they see just what she’s dealing with.

The world around her has had its color drained. The grass beneath her, once a vibrant green stained with muddy browns, is almost entirely devoid of anything but white. The sky above her, mostly clear with clouds covering parts, looks as if snowy weather is in their future; a blanket of white encases the sky.

Even her students behind her, as she turns to look at them, have been affected by the grayscale. More alerting, however, is that all of them have been frozen in the exact poses they’d been in as they’d been about to strike at Nemesis.

She recognizes this after a moment of thinking. This is a power she has seen only once in all her lifetimes, the power that Sothis had used to save her life from Kostas in Byleth’s very first lifetime, back when she’d stepped in front of an axe for Edelgard, to try and give her life for the girl’s sake.

Sothis’ had frozen time in that exact moment, purely to chew her out and berate her. During that time, she’d also taught her about her Divine Pulses. But there had never been a reason to utilize the power again. The only reason to stop time is to more carefully choose when to use a Divine Pulse, after all, for a divine pulse can be used even if she’s bleeding out, or even if she’s been killed, the Goddess herself merely rewinding herself.

But now… now in a situation where Nemesis succeeding in reversing time means the end of everything…

It is the most frightening thing she’s seen in all her lifetimes.

For in this stopped time…

“By…leth…”

Her eyes widen, and she turns towards the sound of the voice she recognizes above any other. She sees, standing just beyond her, the hulking body of Nemesis, but, far more importantly, hovering in front of him, and looking like she is straining to even continue to exist, let alone speak…

Is Sothis.

And she’s smiling at her as if the world might not come to an end in a few minutes, as if she isn’t struggling to do something so desperately she can barely function, as if she might not end up attached to Nemesis for the rest of time…

Byleth wants so desperately for her to be right.

“Hey,” She gives the tiniest of smiles back as her voice comes out scratchy and dead, but she’s too tired to care about that in front of the woman she loves, despite everything that has, and may yet still, happened. “I’m… glad I could see you.”

Sothis’ smile grows softer at that despite the stress in her features. “As am I.”

She takes a small step forward but pauses as she realizes now is likely not the time for tearful reunions. She shakes her head and meets her patron goddesses eyes. “How am I… moving? We’re within a frozen piece of time, right?”

“I’m allowing you to move via some of my power.” The goddess across from her explains. “and I’m keeping Nemesis’ still as long as I can.”

She has a sinking feeling it will not be as easy as walking up to the frozen man and stabbing him with Athame.

“I’m guessing that while he’s frozen in time like that, I can’t actually injure him in any way?”

Sothis nods sadly. “Even if you were to hit him, your strikes would simply bounce off. You physically _cannot_ interact with something that’s been temporally locked.”

She nods, sort of understanding what the goddess is saying.

“I’ll… If you’re going to defeat him, then I’ll need to unfreeze him… and you two will need to duel.”

She realizes what the Goddess is saying.

Here in this fragmented moment of time, all by herself, she will need to do so without her students assistance. Without her father’s or Rhea’s help. Without an army at her beck and call; hell, even without her patron goddess at her side.

She will need to defeat the horribly augmented Nemesis…

And she will need to do it alone.

“Does he…” She speaks to hopefully quell some of the panic inside of her. “Does he have Divine Pulses? This’ll be a lot harder if he’s rewinding every time I kill him.”

Sothis shakes her head, and she lets out a horrid breath of relief.

“I burned all of the remaining ones while he and I were wrestling for control of my power earlier,” The goddess explains. “if only I could’ve held on, this wouldn’t be…”

“Don’t worry about that.” She looks up at her with a smile, to try and show her that she does not blame her for any of this. “But… What do you mean by remaining?”

“Thales burned one himself just to test if it would work… back in the caverns.” Sothis explains. “You felt it, right?”

She finds herself briefly flashing back.

_They’re forced to retreat, and Byleth gets just the smallest hint of victory. Just the smallest taste of what they could experience, just that tiniest bit closer to Sothis… and feels a small pulse. It’s a tiny, absent thing, one that’s hard to describe really. It’s almost like…_

_“Sothis?” She recognizes the feeling. “Are you…”_

_She gets no response, which is far from a shocking revelation. She hadn’t truly expected anything, but even so, the fact that she could recognize the feeling… seems to spell out to her that something is wrong._

“Yeah, I felt it.” she confirms. 

“I burnt… every single one of his divine pulses. All eleven that remained.” Sothis’ can’t bear to meet her eyes, and she can tell her goddess is struggling, barely holding on, but wanting to talk for as long as she possibly can…

Because she, too, understand that this might be the last time they’ll speak.

“I’m siphoning as much of his energy into myself as I can to give you a fighting chance,” Sothis speaks, and Byleth can see the way that Nemesis’ veins are glowing just a bit dimmer than they’d been before, and the way her patron goddess has become more and more opaque, seeming more real as she floats in front of the undead king. “But… To say he’s overloaded with magic right now doesn’t quite cut it. I’ve sapped out enough to blow up a city with, but… but even with that…

“Thank you for doing as much as you could.” She gives a quiet laugh, trying to change the subject to something brighter. “I suppose I owe you dinner when this is all over, huh?”

Sothis bristles slightly, evidently wanting to fall into one of their little comedy routines.

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than that, buster!”

“Alright, alright, how about we go on a trip, just the two of us?”

“Oh?” from the expression on Sothis’ face, Byleth can tell she doesn’t mind the idea. “And just where would we be going in this little fantasy of yours?”

Her smile brightens as an idea comes to her. “How does Zanado sound?”

“Why there?”

“I don’t know if we’ve ever stayed for more than a day or two. And… it is your home, isn’t it?” She points out, before being hit by another inkling of an idea. “Oo! How about… you, me, Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn all go back there.”

Her goddess stares at her with a deadpan visage.

“Didn’t you _just_ say this was a trip to the two of us?”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Honestly, you’re ridiculous.”

She smirks devilishly. “You know you love me.”

Sothis glares at her annoyedly.

“Of course, I–!”

Sothis’ body shakes, and she lets out a small yelp of pain. Her muscles are terribly straining, and Byleth can tell she has mere seconds before her control will no longer hold.

“Byleth, I…” Sothis bites down hard, grinding her teeth as Nemesis’ body gives a single flicker of life. “In case… In case the worst happens…” She hears her Goddess mutter ever so quietly, struggling to get even those words out, and it’s so similar to how she’d said goodbye, in her own, indirect way, to her father just a while ago.

“Byleth, I… I love you.”

Her heart feels both gutted and healed.

Well…

She can’t lose now.

“I love you too.” She answers, feeling her nerves still as much as she thinks they ever will. “Alright… I’m ready.”

“Okay…” Sothis lets go, and she watches as Nemesis begins to stir. “I believe in you. You can do it.”

She nods back.

“Thank you.”

Sothis disspears, fading back into the King of Liberation’s mindscape…

And then Nemesis’ body stutters to life.

She is running straight at him before he can even process what’s happening, and it’s enough to let her land a blow at the start of combat, Athame narrowly cutting a chunk of Nemesis’ shoulder armor from off of his body. She misses any flesh, however, which means she’s wasted her opening attack. Nemesis himself growls as he tries to bat at her, evidently realizing his battle has not yet ended, but she’s fast enough to barely get away, creating some distance.

She closes the gap once more, stabbing up at Nemesis’ chest with her blade. He dodges back, with a speed that belies the size of his body, and swings at her head with his left hand. She ducks underneath it but is unable to connect with a hit.

Nemesis growls as she evades another of his own blows, evidently angered by her agility, and she can tell he will try something in but a moment. She backs away as Nemesis unfurls the Sword of the Creator, and the blade glows an eerie orange.

She recognizes it as Ruptured Heaven, and feels her heart fill her throat as he slashes down.

The ground around her erupts. Except, it cannot.

Without anywhere to go, unable to break the temporally frozen ground, the energy rebounds off of it, hitting both her and Nemesis and launching them backwards. Unfortunately, said hit has done far more to her than it has to the King of Liberation, who seems minorly winded at worst.

She is gasping for air, having landed _hard_ on her back.

The ground has no give, quite literally none at all, as she lands on it, and so her skin, her muscles, her nerves, and her bones have to take the entirety of the impact, without a thing to disperse it with.

The pain is excruciating. She has likely already torn several muscles in their first few brief exchanges alone.

She stands without complaint. There is no point in complaining. Not about the pain, not about the dimming flame in her chest, or the ache in her heart.

It will change nothing of what she must do.

Nemesis is also a bit slow to get up, and she utilizes that as best she can, snaking a hit in before he can fully recover. Once more, though, she finds herself biting down on her bottom lip as the undead king turns at the last moment and takes the strike on a piece of armor. It is rent cleanly in half, but that doesn’t much matter when he’s still not taken a scratch.

Luckily, he’d been nearly felled earlier. The gash Edelgard has left across his chest is evidently slowing him down, and it’s making his strikes far less effective, as some of the muscles he wants to use to strike out at her simply aren’t connected any longer. It’s probably the only thing really keeping her in this fight at all, given that even with that handicap, he’s still easily winning.

She pivots backwards as his sword slams down on the ground just off to her left, bouncing off of the frozen dirt and rattling the muscles in the man’s arm. She stabs out and is caught unaware as Nemesis knees her underneath her chin, utterly smashing her concentration, and, well, her jaw as well.

It is a miracle she’s still conscious as she backs away, bleeding heavily from her mouth. She can feel that all her teeth are still in place, which is just about the only positive, although, if the shard floating around in her mouth is anything to go by, she’s certainly chipped at least one.

She decides to take a faster approach just after she spits out the contents of her mouth, blitzing into Nemesis’ guard and wielding Athame in a reverse grip. She strikes fast and loose, trying to prey upon the man’s size and bulk, and use them to her advantage to out-speed him.

Once more, he proves himself faster than she thought he’d be, easily keeping up with her pace as he matches his Sword of the Creator with Athame. It is a testament to his absurd strength that he’s able to maneuver the much heavier weapon at the same speed she’s able to cut across his form with her dagger.

Their blades collide in the center of their makeshift arena, and she listens as the sound of said clash ripples off into the ether of that stopped moment. It seems to recur forever, as the soundwaves themselves cannot be absorbed by the ground or the sky. They echo out into the world, forevermore.

And then they break away, and the battle continues.

Neither of them has spoken a word or let out anything more than a growl or hiss. She imagines that will not change. Neither of them has anything to say to the other. This is not a battle of ideologies of philosophies, but purely a death match over the fate of the world.

It is not the kind of thing one needs to discuss with their opponent.

She stabs upwards and swears mentally as she realizes she’s fallen right into Nemesis’ feint. He grabs her arm at the wrist, and pulls her forward, forcing her to take a step towards him, and then, with a mighty roar, he lets go, and slashes across her chest.

She is blasted backwards by the impact, and blood flies from her torso. The Sword of the Creator had cut cleanly, and though she’d managed to avoid being killed by the strike, having allowed the momentum of the hit to carry her backwards (thanks in large part to knowing that the Sword of the Creator itself is not a particularly sharp weapon, its edges a dull bone, not a sharp steel) she is still definitely hurting, and that’s before she hits the ground, and feels at least three of her ribs break on impact.

She screams as she rolls to a stop, and for a moment, she simply lays there, writhing in pain.

As that happens, once again, her life blips out. Her organs cease their functions for the second time that day, and this time, it takes a good five or six seconds before they start again, and she gasps as she takes a massive breath of air.

She has minutes.

At best.

She cannot afford to waste away that time laying on the ground, feeling sorry for herself. Agonizingly, she climbs to her feet, panting terribly as she manages to bring Athame up in front of her.

But Nemesis has not spent his time idling. He has charged right for her, intent to finish her off, lest she somehow find some way to defeat him. His strikes are merciless, filled with only ferocity and hate, like that of a hungry animal seeking a meal.

She barely succeeds in blocking his blows, but her own chest aches now, and though the wound upon it is shallow, likely not breaking into the muscle or fat beneath, it is enough to hamper her movements, much like Nemesis’ own injury nearly mirroring her own.

It does not help that she has still not entirely recovered from being on death’s door for two months until her mother had resuscitated her. Her instincts cry out for her body to do things that it no longer can, and that leads to her taking scratches and bruises where she otherwise wouldn’t further hampering her ability.

She can feel muscle and sinew tearing as she parries Nemesis’ blows, the force behind them too much for her already worn body. It doesn’t help that her heart is fluctuating wildly, her lungs feel like they’re on fire, her legs will barely move, her head is spinning, her vision is blurry, and she’s only able to recover from being distracted by the pain long enough to feel Nemesis’ fist bury itself in her diaphragm.

Once more, she finds herself sailing through the air. She careens wildly, uncontrollably, as she’s sent soaring back. She lands on her left arm and can quite literally hear the crack as the bone within it shatters. To call the pain intense would be an understatement.

She hacks up blood as she struggles to draw breath. Her entire body is failing her, and she can tell the flame in her chest is fluctuating madly, like a tiny ember in the middle of a hurricane, it could be snuffed out at any moment.

Nemesis does not even bother to walk over and finish her off. Instead, perhaps deeming her as a threat no longer, he focuses inward, likely trying to gain control over Sothis’ ability to rewind time.

She tries desperately to force herself to stand at seeing that, knowing she has but moments to stop him from ending the very world, but no strength comes to her limbs. She has nothing. No secret strategy, no final play. No desperate gambit to save the world…

Nothing.

She is alone, feeble, powerless.

She can feel time itself creak, like an old metal fence that’s been out in the rain for decades, slowly wasting away from rust and decay. Soon, it will be malleable enough, even, to revert itself a full millennia back.

Soon, everything will be gone.

And she is helpless to stop it.

Her vision swims, and she feels her consciousness leave her.

…

And yet, despite it all, something will not allow her to fade.

_“But… you were always there for me… always… always kind, and…”_

Bernadetta, at the very end of her last life, laying atop that burning platform as the flames had licked at his heels, her eyes fading, but full of warmth at seeing her Professor before her one last time.

Forever grateful.

_“Hey, I think you’re fairly illustrious, don’t you? I’m going to be the talk of the town after we dance the night away. Believe me, I’m using you for your fame.”_

Claude, always the jester, and yet, that behavior belies just how kind and loyal he truly is, a friend one would want to have at the end of the world.

A leader to rely on.

_“You’ve got this. C’mon. We’ve got your back, but that means you’ve gotta’ move.”_

Ingrid, who stands behind her friends, who stands behind the people she loves.

She is silhouetted against the sun, the picture-perfect knight, standing in front of even her, protecting her from any harm.

_“Alas… my men, we have, for too long, sat in the shadows- Fine, fine. Sheesh, you’re all so boring.”_

Sylvain seems to always have a joke to tell. What he lacks in manners he makes up for in good-naturedness.

He’s smirking right at her, as if he already has a joke waiting for her.

_“No, it’s so good to see you, Professor! I can’t believe it’s really you.”_

Mercedes, ever helpful, ever mature. Her strength is in the kindness she shows to all who’d need it.

Even now, she has a hand extended out, waiting for her to take it.

_“M-Mercie! Maybe don’t say all of that! S-sorry, Professor, just… ignore what she said. We’re here to back you up!”_

Beside her, Annette stands, smiling brightly despite the embarrassment she feels, her hands on her hips, and a hop in her step.

She’s ready to assist in any way she can.

_“So, the road we’ve chosen is a difficult one. What else is new? We’ll handle this like we always do and come out victorious.”_

Felix, always so headstrong and self-assured. His behavior might’ve partially hid his own uncertainties, but it had always been a boon to those who stood beside him.

A reminder to face forward.

_“Ugh… you’re the same as always. Fine, fine…”_

_“It’s done! I haven’t slept in a good three days… but it’s done!”_

Manuela’s exasperation, and Hanneman’s exhaustion. The two having stood by her always and being some of her very best friends in all her lives.

Once more, they seemed ready to give up anything and everything to help her.

_“You seemed to have all the answers… I just… if anyone can do it, Professor, then it’s you.”_

Ashe’s face smiles up at her, full of a faith she can only hope to realize.

He looks at her in awe, even now.

_“To those who broke my homeland in twain… who were the reason my countrymen, my family, were slaughtered in droves, I will be the light that ends your darkness. And then, perhaps… I shall stand beside you, your highness.”_

Dedue’s miniscule smile is something so rare, so odd, that seeing it instantly makes her want to smile as well. It’s an expression more precious than the changing of the seasons themselves.

To hear such fervor come from his is a gift she never thought she’d receive.

_“Well, Professor, seems like there’s only really one thing left to do…”_

_“Let’s go get her back. Let’s end this.”_

The King and the Empress, finally united as one, stand before her expectantly.

They await her return.

_“I cannot do much to protect you… But… I will do what I can to keep you safe. Even now, I’ve always considered you my…_

_I trust you.”_

Seiros, who has fought and bled and ruled over this world for generations, known more to her as Rhea. She stands behind her, ready to do what she can.

The woman had no need to finish her statement. Byleth had known what she’d meant.

_“You won’t fail. You will succeed. You will get her back. Got it?”_

Her father has his back turned to her. There is no doubt there. She does not need his help, and yet…

He will wait there just in case he’s wanted.

_“Reclaim her. Get back the one you love, and don’t you dare give up. Not when that means giving up on her too.”_

Her mother stands above her with a small, supportive smile, as if telling her to rise whenever she’s comfortable to, encouraging her to do so.

_“I know this must be the hardest thing anyone’s ever asked of you… But at the same time… Isn’t it time for you to move on as well? What does life hold for Byleth Eisner, strongest warrior in Fódlan? …I think it’s about time that you found out.”_

Kronya’s expression is one of annoyance. ‘C’mon, how long are you going to stay down for!? Fight!’ it seems to say.

_“I… I will.”_

Her hand strikes the ground, and her arm quakes as she forces the weight of her entire body upon the torn muscle within it.

_“And yes, I admit, that is rather annoying. But still! We can do this.”_

She rises an inch, and then another. She forces herself to put her left arm down as well and nearly screams as she puts weight on it.

_“Sorry. I’m no good at this either, but… Thanks.”_

But she’s up. She’s to her knees, barely hanging in there.

_“It’s just… last night, after we talked, I wanted you to feel like I was actually there…”_

Her legs falter as she tries to put weight on them, and she falls again, back to the ground.

_“We’ve got this. All of that information, all of that time… it’ll mean something. I promise.”_

Again, she pushes. Again, she rises through the agony. Again, she makes it to her knees.

_“You were right. It seemed like every time we were doing anything together; it was you starting it. Well…”_

This time, she stands.

_“Sorry I was gone so long. Reforming took a bit longer than I’d expected.”_

Her lungs draw in only handfuls of air, seemingly entirely broken.

_“What’ll we even do once we finish? You ever thought about that?”_

Her heart is beating only once every second or so.

_“You’ve never thought about it. Never… I would know if you had…”_

The flame in her chest has almost entirely burnt out. She is running only on the last dregs, now.

_“Go. This… is the beginning of the end.”_

But… that does not matter. She brings Athame up regardless, and grips onto the daggers handle like a lifeline.

_“Honestly, you’re ridiculous.”_

She will not fail.

_“Byleth, I… I love you.”_

Sothis is waiting for her.

They all are.

She forces one foot in front of the other as she moves forward, taking painfully slow, yet assured steps towards the King of Liberation just beyond. He is not looking at her, likely expecting her to have already passed out, or died from her wounds.

It is, perhaps, the first mistake he’s made today.

She locates a chink in Nemesis’ armor just as the man seems to finally hear her footfalls echoing in the endless space. He turns to her, but it’s too late. Athame juts out towards his chest…

And he dodges to the side.

Still, the dagger manages, for the first time that day, to slice across the man’s skin. It’s only on his slightly exposed left elbow, cutting across the back of the muscle there, and drawing just a scant amount of blood, but it is _something,_ at least.

She expects to have to answer Nemesis’ attacks for that, to have to block and parry and fight for her life for that single drop of blood.

She does not expect the giant to recoil away, howling as he grasps onto his left arm as it quite literally melts away.

_“What…?”_

She watches in confusion as the limb which she’d struck breaks away at the elbow, steaming and hissing as it falls to the ground, beginning to melt into a pile of green sludge.

Green…

Her mind makes the connection a moment later, and strength seems to fill her as she realizes what’s happening.

In order to raise Nemesis’ affinity with Sothis; in order to allow him to more easily bend the goddess of time to his will, Thales had implanted within his body the blood of Seiros, blood he’d spent three months collecting from the woman herself in the bowels of Embarr. That blood had inevitably made him more powerful, but it’s power he hadn’t needed, power that’s unnecessary to their goal of rewinding time itself.

And it is that very power that has given Nemesis, seemingly unbeatable, infallible, inevitable, an Achilles Heel.

In his veins runs the Blood of Seiros.

Blood that Athame, Kronya’s dagger, had been specifically designed to eradicate.

It had had that ability taken from it once, by herself, but once Kronya had returned to her old masters, they’d re-enchanted the blade, perhaps with something even stronger than it’d had before.

And it is in that moment, dazed and battered and beaten and broken and struggling, that she finds laughter bubbling up into her lips. It only intensifies as Nemesis backs away from her, like a beast which has only just realized it is no longer at the top of the food chain.

“The blood of Seiros that Thales placed into you…” She mutters, almost dumbfounded. “It’s your weakness. The Agarthans got so caught up in creating the ultimate, perfect, immortal warrior that they gave you a fatal flaw.”

She looks down at Kronya’s dagger in her hands, and turns it over once, looking at her reflection in the blade. Somehow, through the blood and guts and mucus and other horrors it’s faced, her face still shines through on its surface.

“How humorous. That the Agarthan’s greed would spell their downfall once more, just as it always has.” She looks up at the warrior beyond her, who growls and yells as he charges her, wanting to annihilate any potential threat.

No, wanting is too strong a term.

 _Programmed_ to annihilate any possible threat.

She forces the last embers of her mother’s flame not into her heart, but into her muscles, into the aches and pains and holes and tears that cover her body and **_prays_** to the woman to allow her to move as she needs to.

Just for a moment. Just for a while longer.

She charges forward to meet him.

She watches as another Ruptured Heaven is channeled into the blade but doesn’t let fear of that stay her hand. Instead, she jumps up, into the whip-like blade which threatens to crash down at her, and spins in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the collapsing blade by making her silhouette skinnier by just a touch.

The energy from the combat art explodes, knocking the man off balance, but doesn’t do a thing to her, flying over his head as she is.

She lands just behind the man and stabs up into Nemesis’ back.

The blow, if one can even call it that, is almost nothing. It is the tiniest of pricks past the man’s massive, hulking armor.

He bellows out in pain, recoiling as if lit aflame.

He likely has been, inside his body.

This time, she does not waste the opportunity that Athame has given her. She capitalizes on that moment of pain and suffering, bringing her blade up just in time to strike out at Nemesis’ right arm, hitting his shoulder, and then again, his right pectoral.

The armor in both places oozes off of the melting flesh, and Nemesis howls once more.

Once again, she has the thought that she feels that she might have felt bad had Nemesis been a better person in his life, had he not raised a sword against Fódlan, conquered and robbed and slain and destroyed.

Had he not murdered Sothis, the woman she loved. Had he not turned her spine, her heart, her blood into a weapon.

But he’d done all of those things.

And so, she feels nothing.

 _“Kronya, I…”_ She murmurs to herself as she flips around Nemesis, cutting him across the back of his left thigh as she ducks beneath his blow. _“There’s no way I can make this up to you, nothing I can do to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, but…”_

She finds a smile on her face as she jukes to the right, underneath Nemesis’ right arm, and stabs up into his armpit. She can feel her body failing, but she will not allow it to yet.

_“Know that I’ll walk forward. I won’t idle in this time any longer. I will fight for the people close to me, to my very final breath, I will fight to save them above all else, to give them every opportunity at life. But I will not hold onto them forever. I will allow them to live their lives, allow them to do what it is they want. And… to you…”_

Nemesis hisses and steams, bellowing mad with rage and fury and agony, as he tries to kick out at her, but once again, she’s just the tiniest bit faster. She strikes at his torso, and it is in that moment that Nemesis tries some desperate, final attack. He launches the Sword of the Creator straight at her and elongates it at the same time.

She brings Athame up just in time to block it and hears more than sees as the tip of the bone-forged weapon cuts into the dagger’s polished blade. It cracks in the center, barely holding together…

But Athame does not break.

And it is in that moment, Nemesis’ having exhausted the very last of his attacks, that he seems to realize what is about to happen. He tries to bring his sword back, tries to raise a left arm that is no longer there, tries to pivot away, but he has nothing.

She moves.

_“I’m sure, that someday, sometime… in some way, you and I will meet again.”_

She launches herself into the air, gaining more height than ever before. The flame in her chest dies in that moment, and she can feel every organ in her body cease to function, but it does not matter. Her muscles will still move. Her hand can still grip. Her eyes can still see. Her brain can still aim. Her left arm can still reach behind her. The hand attached can still grip onto the device Hanneman has made for her. Her right arm can still drive downwards.

She follows through, channeling into the dagger its unique combat art, one she’d learned the name of, millennia ago, from a girl who’d fought alongside her with it for nearly five years, who’d been one of her closest companions, and who’d laid beside Byleth as she’d faded away in the snow.

“DEICIDE!” She screams with every fiber of her being.

Athame glows a deep, abyssal black.

And without a moment's more hesitation, she drives the blade down into the neck of the King of Liberation.

_“Thank you for everything, old friend.”_

And upon completing its final duty, leaving a chunk of itself behind inside Nemesis’ flesh, Athame shatters into pieces.

Just as she drives the crest device straight into the undead king’s heart.

Nemesis lets out a rasping scream, one born of fury and hate, but agony, torment, and fear, too. Perhaps his mind has returned to him only now, just to see his body melt around him. His scream only intensifies as the shard of Athame sinks into him, seemingly beginning to dissolve the inside of him as well…

And then, a moment later, as said shard sinks down into where Sothis’ crest stone lies, the world itself explodes.

Time itself is breaking apart. Ages pass in the blink of an eye, and an eternity goes by as that same eye tries to open once more. The world is absorbed by white, by black, by color, by nothing. She sees as the fabric of reality begins to unbind, and, as it seems to sort itself out, as it begins to sew itself back together. And all of that energy begins to gather into a single, solitary point; into the device in Byleth’s hand.

It coalesces into the goddess held within.

And it is at that moment, on the cusp of the world’s continuing, that she sees a green-haired figure just beyond her, floating in the empty expanse of frozen time.

It is not Sothis, but the figure there is one she recognizes, one she’s seen but once before.

Her mother, Sitri.

She says nothing, and Byleth can’t help feeling like… like that’s fine. She tries her best to shoot the woman a smile, to… to let her know that she’d appreciated her help, to let her know that she’d done it, she’d succeeded. She wanted to let her know that she’d be fine without her, now, that she could pass onto whatever lays beyond this world in peace.

There’s another part of her that simply wants to reach out and hug her.

But she cannot manage to lift her arms. She cannot manage to open her mouth, to call out to the woman. She cannot manage to cry for her, or to say goodbye.

She cannot manage to tell her she loves her.

“Don’t worry.”

Her eyes widen as the voice coming from the other woman hits her. She meets her eyes and sees there a look of absolute peace. Peace, and reassurance.

“You don’t have to tell me a thing, sweetie.” Sitri smiles, a million emotions present within said expression that she has no time to unwrap.

“I already know.”

And then the second-hand ticks forward,

And the world itself does too.

\-----

_“…This… So… is…”_

Her eyes flutter open slowly, and she takes in her surroundings with some small trepidation, rather unsure just what’s going on.

She’s being overloaded with sensation, quite literally unable to process the things her body is going through. Perhaps most obviously, and, thusly, the thing she chooses to latch onto, is one simple fact.

She feels warm.

This is a rather novel experience, given that she doesn’t think she’s felt warm in over seven thousand years. She has felt a fleeting version of it, surely, like when they’d taken baths in Embarr, or when they’d been lit up by a particularly nasty ‘Bolganone’ but…

She looks down at her body, laid out upon the grassy field, expecting to see a mostly transparent figure, but… instead…

She is opaque. Quite so.

And… is she crazy, or does she look a bit… _different?_

She finds herself reaching over and touching the grass, feeling the blades there upon the skin on her fingers. Her eyes go wide, because she can touch them, because she can feel them course across her arm, feel the wind that courses through that grass pass over her as well, no longer through her.

She finds herself rather overwhelmed once more.

She hears the sounds of people moving up and about and turns her head to see a massive battlefield just behind her. It seems as if a war has taken place here just hours prior, and she finds herself rather easily recognizes the sides.

The victorious here are the various armies of Fódlan; the Kingdom, Empire, and Alliance soldiers, along with a choice few regiments from the Church of Seiros themselves. By the looks of things, they’ve taken very few casualties, perhaps numbering in the middle hundreds, which, compared to the number of losses that the Agarthans have suffered, seemingly totaling a good two thousand (if her math at counting the bodies scattered around the ground is correct, which it should be), is a pittance.

Though, such talk is still frowned upon. People had still lost their lives today, had given them so that the world might continue onwards, would not be ended.

She makes to stand but finds herself nearly fainting as she collapses to her knees. She’s breathing heavily, and by _herself_ , she has not _breathed_ in quite a while, practically panting as she tries to drag herself to her feet.

She fails, falling back down, and at that point, she just sort of gives up.

She’s not sure why this is so hard, why it seems like everything has become a lot more difficult all of a sudden, until she ponders a possibility within herself, and she realizes what must have happened, somehow, someway.

Before she can think too hard about that, though, the sound of footsteps echoes out from the very edge of her hearing.

And a thought, one not her own, does as well.

_“Got to… find her…”_

She turns her head towards both, and sees a collection of figures approaching her, steadily making their way over.

_“See… her…”_

There are several of them, a good six, if her ability to count their footsteps is as accurate as she thinks it is. The middle two, however, are carrying along another figure, who… well…

_“…Found her.”_

To say they look like they look like shit would be an understatement.

They’re covered in blood in just about every spot on their body, from their torso, which has a huge gash upon it, to their legs, which quite literally look like they’d been halfway through being amputated before the doctor in question had simply given up. While moving, the figure is being healed with a powerful ‘Restore’ spell, which might be just about the only thing still holding their fragile structure together.

She finds, however, that as they get a bit closer, and she can confirm the person is who she believes it is, any other thoughts simply disappear from her mind.

An overwhelming feeling of absolute fear, and worry, and terror, and about 53 other horrible things (give or take one or two) hit her around the same time, and she realizes that the woman with whom she shares a mental link has likely been holding onto said feelings for quite a while.

She wants to rid her of them.

She stands, forcing her atrophied muscles (in her defense, she has been able to fly everywhere for about 6000 years, now) to push her off of the ground. She takes a single step towards the oncoming figures, and nearly falls flat on her face right then and there.

The only thing that keeps her from eating dirt is the middle figure, who breaks away from her carriers and catches her at the last minute, holding her tightly in her arms. She does not complain at all, rather, she wraps her own arms around the woman’s back, squeezing snugly.

“C-Careful, Professor!” One of the figures, a blonde one, says to the woman in her arms. “Mercedes hadn’t managed to fully heal you. You shouldn’t agitate your injuries any more than you already have.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Dimitri.” Another, a gray-haired woman, elbows him in the ribs. “Can’t you see they’re having a moment?”

She appreciates the words on their behalf, but she really wishes everyone else would _shut up_ so that she could properly enjoy said moment. Perhaps she’s being too short with them, but in her defense, she has had a _day._

She pulls out of the hug, looking the woman she’s been holding in the eyes, and finds herself feeling more than a little infatuated with how the green-haired woman’s locks dance in the wind.

“Welcome back.” Byleth speaks to her, tears running down her face as the weight of everything they’ve gone through hits her all at once.

Sothis can feel the intensity of that feeling, can feel the thoughts translated towards her, and makes no real effort to translate any of them beyond basic emotions.

 _“–Love you not going to let you go again stay with me right here don’t go away ever again wish Dimitri would go away stop talking Edelgard thank you for staying quiet Mercedes and not ruining the moment will have to get you something nice hold me for a while I just want to get wait how come I can feel you what’s going on with that that’s weird wait can I kiss you and like feel it now or–”_ Is a fairly basic transcript.

She giggles, finding the noise erupting out of her before she can do anything to stop it.

She doesn’t particularly want to stop it.

Instead, she thinks she might as well take Byleth up on her offer.

And so, she leans forward, and presses her lips against the woman’s own.

It is impossible, really, for anyone who hasn’t gone without the sensation of touch for seven millennia to truly grasp the ecstasy of that brief moment of time when their lips had first connected. Said feeling only intensifies a moment later as Byleth presses into her, and she gives herself away entirely, not a bone in her body attempting resistance.

She wants to stay within this kiss for the rest of time, she realizes without any trepidation, to freeze everything and just exist in that bliss.

She does try to do just that… But her powers do not come to her.

Troubling, but a thought for later.

When she breaks away, she finds she feels… well, she feels rather lustful, and she decides that she _will_ do something about that later, when she’s not being watched by four dumb children and Mercedes.

She looks Byleth in the eye, and, as she leans her forehead against the woman’s own, she finds herself smiling almost subconsciously. The woman just across from her takes her hand in her own, and lifts it up, drawing from out of her coat pocket a small piece of jewelry, and slides it onto her ring finger.

It is Sitri’s ring.

 _“Like? Fine?”_ The mental connection asks her.

It is far too big on her, nearly sliding off as she moves her hand up to look at the gleaming gem in the center.

Sothis nods with a watery smile, regardless.

She thinks they might need to get the size fixed, but that’s something for later, as well. For now, she has only a single, solitary thought…

She has a line to say.

Her lips part, morphing into a self-satisfied smile as she shakes her head amusedly.

“…Good to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This is, by far, the longest chapter of the story. It was the longest in my notes, but holy crap, it ended up being even longer than I'd expected it to be. 17,831 words to be precise. Yeesh.
> 
> This took a bit to make, but luckily, the next two chapters (plus an epilogue, I don't know why I always forget to mention the epilogue) will be a bit shorter (or they won't be, honestly I don't super know)."
> 
> \- Me, a bit too prophetic for my own good, at some point in 2020.
> 
> In case anyone is curious, this chapter is a staggering 29,398 words long. I hate myself for, months ago, thinking "It would be cool if I brought back the thing from chapter 2 where everyone gets a POV section, wouldn't it?" Because it was THE WORST!
> 
> Not in terms of execution, I think it's a pretty good thing narrative-wise, but in terms of how much I hate myself for having to write it, it's definitely contributed.
> 
> Anyways, not much else to say yet. Final thoughts will be next chapter, which I will say will come out in probably a month and a half? End of February, beginning of March-ish? Idk. It's probably going to be about as long as this chapter was, and I hate the fact that I'm admitting that.
> 
> Next chapter will resolve any hanging plot threads (I hope?) and give us a satisfying ending (I HOPE!?), so I hope it's worth the wait. 
> 
> Hell, I hope this chapter was worth the wait, as it took longer than a month to actually come out.
> 
> Anyways, please, PLEASE leave a comment if you enjoyed (or didn't). This took me too long, so even if said comment is "Continue typing, buckaroo, I am not yet satisfied", or you want to rebuke me for my preference of Apex of the World and A Funeral of Flowers over God-Shattering Star by calling me a "Filthy peasant whose musical tastes need refinement" then for the love of Sothis herself, write it. 
> 
> Even if said comment is the word "Good" then PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!
> 
> ... Er, Sorry... I'm losing it a little.
> 
> Alright, see you all next chapter, when we conclude this story for real!


	14. To Save them All, No Matter the Cost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so, uh... as you may've noticed from the updated total chapter numbers, this is NOT the final chapter.
> 
> As I was working on this, some certain things became more important than I'd initially thought they'd be, which really lengthened this chapter. Anyways, hope you enjoy this, I'll see you after the chapter for some more thoughts on the matter!

Byleth phases in and out of consciousness for the next few days, and though she’s lucid… _ish_ by the time everyone’s grown impatient enough to start demanding explanations of just what the hell had happened back during their final battle, she’s still quite exhausted.

Unfortunately, tied to her as she is, Sothis has been doing much the same thing as her. Passing out when she had, growing tired when she had, sleeping when she had. Once again, said behavior provides yet another mystery as to just what’s going on with her goddess now. It had been largely because of how utterly out of it she’d been at the time, but somehow, when she and Sothis had joined together once more after her fight with Nemesis, she’d missed that Sothis had been…

Well, _bigger._

It is a rather hard thing to _not_ notice now that she’s mentally (mostly) present. Sothis’ arms and legs are longer, as is her hair, and… er… _certain parts_ of her are larger as well, and though the girl herself still has a rather severe case of ‘baby face’, one look at her can tell one instantly that she at the very least _seems_ older, perhaps in her late teens.

And if this whole ‘being visible and tangible’ thing is going to be sticking around for a while, and it certainly seems like it is, at the very least, then she’s glad her companion no longer looks like a child.

That would’ve taken some explaining.

That some might still think she looks below the age of a legal adult will probably still draw stares, but hopefully not… _as many._

She’s also glad for the tangibility for other reasons, none of which bear speaking about here.

Truthfully, she does love to debate with herself the ethics of dating a woman who appears to be a teenager, but, well, she has other duties. Namely, filling the wide assortment of figures who continuously pester her in on what she knows.

It’s been a day by the time that everyone who’d wanted to know had gotten their answers, and though she’d not been entirely truthful with any of them, withholding some information that she thinks unnecessary for them to learn (namely some of the more _personal_ events that’d taken place, aside from her father, who’d come to her in a sling for his broken shoulder, she’d told him just about everything there had been to tell), none of them had left unfulfilled.

When she’s not speaking with them, she’s telling Sothis just what’s been happening while she’s been gone from her head. She tells her of seeing her mother, of the hall meeting, of their assault on the Agarthans, of her duel with Kronya, and the woman’s final words.

“So, you… forgive me?” She asks hesitantly.

Sothis has no such hesitation. “I never even blamed you.”

She also, of course, tells her of the many students she’d seen who’d seemingly gotten together with one another.

Hey, sue her, she’s allowed to have hobbies again now that they’ve saved the world.

She also asks the Goddess exactly what the feeling is in her head, where her divine pulse would normally be, that seems to encompass the entire ‘basin’ of their power. Sothis says she has a guess… but otherwise keeps quiet, telling her simply “not to worry about it”.

She’d have been more concerned about that if she hadn’t been so damned tired. And with her entire left side basically being in a cast (having broken three ribs and her left arm in several places) she’s resigned to a bed for the time being, at least until the end of the week, even with Sothis’ innate powers assisting the healing process.

Four figures, however, have been suspiciously absent from their earlier meetings, and so she’s not at all surprised when, a day later, three of the four of them have filed into hers and Sothis’ shared tent in the set-up medical station all at once.

“Heyo, Professor!” Claude gives a lazy wave, his right arm in a splint from, as he’d said, _‘drawing back his bow so many times, he tore a muscle.’_ “And uh…” He looks at Sothis for a moment. “What should we call you, by the way?”

Her goddess, who really still seems half asleep, shrugs about as lazily as she’s ever seen a person shrug. “Whatever you want. It matters not to me.”

“So if I called you the Gremlin of the Church–”

“Okay, ixnay on the whatever you want thing.” Her patron goddess sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, evidently too tired to be dealing with the golden jester’s antics at this point. “Refer to me as Sothis.”

Claude nods, even as Edelgard whacks him rather sharply on the back of the head, earning a small yelp of pain from the man.

“Still,” Dimitri segues before those two can do anything more. “It’s relieving to see you up and alert, Professor. You’d been… well, _drained_ these past few days.”

She snorts.

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Byleth gives a miniscule smirk. “I fought Uber-Nemesis all on my own, got the absolute shit beaten out of me, and then killed him in the span of like thirty minutes. I’m honestly lucky I got Sothis back when I did, I might’ve died from my wounds otherwise.”

“If what Mercedes tells me is true, you weren’t too far off dying even _with_ her presence.” Dimitri gives her that particular morsel to chew on. “It was close for a while there, but Rhea herself lent some aid, giving her a fairly detailed guide on Naba…” He pauses for a moment.

“Nabatean.” Edelgard provides.

“Nabatean physiology.” Dimitri resumes, nodding to his… girlfriend? “It’s thanks to her that you’re awake as soon as you are.”

“Then I’ll be sure to thank her when I see her next.” She smiles, vaguely remembering Rhea hovering over both her and Sothis when they’d been phasing in and out of consciousness. “Where has she been, anyways? I half expected her to be one of the first to visit.”

All three figures in the room with them give their own rendition of a shrug.

“We’ve no idea.” Edelgard elects to answer for the three of them. “I myself haven’t seen her since the camp was assembled. She is the archbishop of the entire church, after all, and with current happenings as they are, she’s likely even more busy than normal.”

Dimitri smiles. “I’m sure she’ll make time to visit at some point, Professor.”

She nods. “Let’s hope so.”

Byleth feels a small bit of antsy energy that isn’t hers flow through her and turns to see Sothis biting her bottom lip. It’s a rather subtle show of emotion, but she reaches over and holds the girl’s hand regardless. The smile Sothis shoots her after a moment of surprise is enough to have her fire one back in return.

Still… just why is _she_ receiving Sothis’ emotions? Isn’t that supposed to be her patron goddesses job?

Byleth supposes she’ll add that to the ever-growing list of questions currently swimming through her brain.

Dimitri clears his throat, which is her signal to look up towards the three of them once more.

“So, Professor,” Dimitri stands a bit straighter. “We’ve come to hear an explanation, same as everyone else. If you wouldn’t mind… could you explain just what happened in that second of frozen time? One moment, we were about to strike a final blow on Nemesis, and then, in the next, a singularity seemed to form on the edge of our cognition, and then suddenly, there you are, looking horrendously beat upon, saying you need to find Sothis above anything else before we can even heal you. Quite frankly, you scared us half to death.”

She nods her head a bit awkwardly. “Ah, yes, that.” She thinks for a moment on how best to phrase it. “I suppose it went a little something like this…”

She tells the three of them nearly everything, though, just like everyone else, she leaves out certain parts she thinks are unnecessary or overly personal. They’ve no need to know of exactly what she’d said to Sothis, or of the visions that’d spurred her on when she’d been near death. They don’t need to know that she saw her mother there, or what the woman said.

When she finishes, they all look… pensive.

“So, time itself flowed back into Sothis?” Edelgard asks, and Byleth can’t blame the woman for looking a bit confused. “And yet, you say she does not possess any control over her powers at the moment, correct?”

She feels a flash of annoyance, once again not her own, as Sothis sits up in her bed.

“You guys do know I’m right here, right?” She glares at them, and each takes an uncomfortable step back. “You can address me when you’re asking a question about me, you know.”

“Er… our apologies.” Dimitri bows ever so slightly. “I think we’re just a bit unsure of how to address the _literal_ goddess herself.”

Sothis sighs; aggravated but understanding. “Listen, just… I’m just a regular person, for the most part. I mean, aside from the control over time, and the godlike power, but other than that, completely normal.” The goddess crosses her arms over her chest, giving one of her trademarked pouts. “Address me as you would any other.”

It’s not the most convincing argument she’s ever heard, and from the looks on the faces of the other three, they seem to agree. Still, a second later, Claude gives a tiny laugh, shakes his head, and does just that.

“Alright, sure, why not, I’ll bite. Why do you think you don’t have any control over your powers anymore?”

She gets a strong dose of second-hand embarrassment as she watches Sothis, after all that hullabaloo, look away self-consciously. “I don’t know.”

Both Edelgard and Dimitri just sigh.

“Hey, c’mon, how am I supposed to know!? I’ve been an immortal goddess for as long as I can remember, and I only have flashes of my old life before I was placed into Byleth! I’ve never lost my powers before, so of course I have no idea why they’re not working!”

Edelgard crosses her arms over her chest. “I… I suppose that makes sense.”

“Yes, well, my apologies if that’s not the most satisfying answer in the world, believe me, I’d like to know why my powers aren’t working a _lot_ more than you would. If I do figure it out, you three will be some of the first people to know, got it?”

They nod, seemingly satisfied with that.

“Now, and this is going to sound a little rude, but…” Sothis clasps her hands together, making a loud ‘clap’. “Please clear out quickly so that I can get back to sleep!”

They all turn to her after that, and Byleth isn’t quite sure why, because Sothis has already spoken on the matter, so it doesn’t mean a thing what she has to say about it, but she shrugs anyways, and speaks rather simply, “What she said.”

Claude and Edelgard both look a bit exasperated about that, but Dimitri simply smiles, and walks out of the tent with a wave, promising to visit at some point within the next few days. The other two file out in due time, and she’s left alone in the room with Sothis’ once again.

“Sheesh, those three are lucky I love them.” Sothis murmurs as she leans back into the pillowy fortress she’s set up for herself on the medical bed. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t put up with their antics.”

Byleth smiles.

“I think you would.”

Sothis sighs wearily.

“I probably would, yeah.”

\-----

Two days later, when Byleth’s eyes flutter open from a Sothis-induced nap (and by the goddess herself, can that girl sleep), she sees that the entrance to their tent has been pried open, making room for a figure that she’s been expecting for quite a while to step inside rather gingerly. 

“Hey.” Byleth speaks to them as they come in, and though she feels a bit bad that Sothis stirs as she does, there’s not much helping it at this point, given their very souls seem joined at the hip. “It’s good to see you.”

Rhea smiles gently. “And to you as well.” She walks into their tent, and sits down on the end of Byleth’s bed, evidently slightly uncomfortable getting close to Sothis, and clearly the goddess herself can tell, for another round of nervous energy courses through Byleth’s body. “I’m sorry I’m so late in my arrival, I came to visit earlier, but… neither of you were awake.”

Sothis sits up with an apologetic look upon her features.

“I’m sorry. Did we make you worry?”

Rhea’s eyes widen, and she moves quickly, walking up next to Sothis’ bed. “No, no mother, I wasn’t… that is… neither Byleth nor you…”

The woman’s words begin to still as her composure breaks.

“You…”

And before she can say another word, she’s sat down just beside Sothis in her bed, and wrapped her arms around her.

“It’s… really you…”

Sothis nods slowly, gently, like she’s not quite sure what to do, and Byleth knows, because she’s going through those same emotions as her lover does. It hurts for her worse than Byleth can even imagine, for she doesn’t truly remember her life with her daughter. She has mere bits and pieces of memories, but…

“It’s me, Seiros.” Sothis smiles.

At least she has her name.

Rhea only buries her head further into her mother’s chest.

“You look so terribly young… Younger even than I.”

Sothis’ seems to get a kick out of that, smiling slightly despite the inkling of sadness burning in her eyes.

“Yes, well, I believe that would’ve been a bit of a problem a week ago, for I looked even younger than I do now.”

At this point, Byleth feels the need to step in out of curiosity.

“When Sothis lived with you in Zanado… was she an adult?”

That had always been one of the things that both she and Sothis had never talked about much. Her patron goddess had always had a difficult time remembering anything at all from that period, and so she’d never wanted to push her. Still… Rhea seems to remember enough.

And from the link she shares with Sothis, she can tell the woman is hesitant, but ultimately fine with this line of questioning.

“She was.” Rhea speaks with a tiny, almost absent smile as she pulls out of the hug, and turns so that she faces both Byleth and Sothis, sitting along the edge of the bed. “She looked… Well, she looked rather similar to me, actually. Her hair was as you see it now, long and flowing, I remember when we were younger… it used to cascade behind her like a wedding gown, and despite having all of that to manage, she still used to find the time to do my hair up at the same time as she did Radail’s and Patrias’ braids, and…”

She goes quiet, and Byleth asks the obvious question on her mind.

“Radail and Patrias…?” She asks as gently as she can, fearing she already knows the answer to her question.

“They were two of my then many brothers.” Rhea’s… or she supposes Seiros’ smile shrinks, becoming one of only nostalgia and pain. “They were killed by that _wretched_ man, Nemesis, and the Agarthans along with him, to create some of the many crest stones you’ve seen. Those two were never turned into Heroes’ Relics, but…” She shakes her head, evidently finding the subject too painful to continue on with. “So many others like them were lost…” She looks down at Sothis in her arms in a rather depressed manner. “…Along with Mother as well.”

It’s a while after that before anyone speaks again, and even then, it still feels like the conversations existence serves only to distance them from the depressing reality that Rhea had spoken of. Still, eventually, they leave the conversation up to Rhea once more, and she continues on from where she’d left off.

“It’s terribly good to see you again mother.” She says, forcing a small smile onto her face despite the unhappy topics they’d been discussing. “And… I’m glad you were able to find someone to be your companion throughout all those long years.” She turns to Byleth herself. “Thank you, for being there for my mother when I could not be.”

She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, unsure of how to take the compliment.

“Ah, well…”

“I must admit, I find myself a bit envious.” She looks away, a twinge of sadness hanging about her otherwise calmed features. “I think what I’ve wanted for a while now… is that companionship.”

“There are plenty of people you could be with. What about the people of the Monastery, Manuela, Hanneman, Catherine and the likes?”

She shakes her head.

“I do hear what you’re saying, but any bond with them would be fleeting.” Rhea speaks. “Surely, Catherine, Shamir, Cyril, and the others of the Monastery grant me joy… but inevitably, I will be saddened by their deaths one day as well.”

She sees that, but… surely there must be something…

“What about Seteth and Flayn?” She asks, curious. “Would they not fulfill that role?”

Rhea briefly bristles, before calming a second later, and giving a small, elegant laugh. “Professor, I believe we have mixed up our meanings. The bonds I share with my siblings… That is not quite what I meant by… companionship.”

“Ah…” She understands. “…Someone to love, then?”

Rhea nods, a small blush adorning her cheeks as she’s unable to meet either of their gazes, and Byleth can’t really blame the woman.

Saying such things around one’s parent is weird. From speaking with both Sitri and Jeralt about Sothis… she knows the feeling.

The reminder that she’s technically dating Rhea’s mom is once again unwanted but given regardless by her traitorous mind.

“But… I’m getting off topic.” Rhea turns back towards Sothis. “I was under the impression that you were more of an… I suppose the term ‘apparition’ would be applicable. I did not think you could take on a physical form.”

Byleth finds herself agreeing with the woman. “Neither did I. Are you sure you have no idea what’s going on, Sothis?”

She sighs again. “I may have _some_ idea.”

Byleth’s eyes narrow confusedly. “But you told the others you didn’t know what was going on.”

Sothis fixes her with a ‘really?’ look. “Byleth, the others are all human beings, with no concept of our power. They’d have no idea how to fathom what I have to say.”

“Ah… I guess that’s fair.”

She leans forward slightly, evidently about to explain her hypothesis. “If you remember back to one of our first days in this lifetime, when we’d just arrived at the Monastery, the reason Jeralt called you out, and why Seteth mistook your story of me as being Flayn, was because I left an imprint on those sheets. So, even back then, it’s not as if I had _no_ physical form. I’d say this has just made me much more… present.”

“It’s easier for you to manifest?”

“More like it takes no effort at all.” Sothis smirks, evidently amused despite the circumstances. “I have no choice but to manifest. My body has weight to it, my form has substance. I… I do not know _exactly_ what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s made me undeniably… _here._ It makes some sense, I was sapping Nemesis’ magic the entire time I was within him, and even in that piece of frozen time, I’d undoubtedly become more corporeal, if you’ll recall.”

She remembers back to speaking with her just before her and Nemesis’ final duel, of making plans to go to Zanado together just to think of anything else but the death she’d been surely expecting.

“I… I have no idea how long I’ll be like this. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up as an ethereal form once more, with full control of my powers… or maybe I’m just this way for all eternity now.”

Rhea shakes her head. “I don’t think either of those are the case. I believe that your body is recovering from absorbing so much excess magic, and is, instead, merely trying to keep you from burning yourself alive by possessing too much. Do you have any within you? Magic, I mean.”

Sothis’ face scrunches up somewhat. “Some, but it’s… raw, untappable. It fills the basin of power that Byleth and I pull from, but… well, I can’t use it to pulse, or to reset. It feels more like raw life energy itself, the last dregs of Nemesis’ existence. It’s what I was pulling out of him while Byleth was fighting him; the magic that powered his life force. I think that’s what’s making me so present, physically, I mean. It’s quite literally overloaded my ethereal form with physical energy, enough to force me onto this plain. Until I’m able to purge it from my system, I won’t be able to use my own powers at all. Conversely, once I do… it’s likely I’ll become an ephemeral being once more.”

Byleth nods, sort of understanding that. It would explain the odd magic that she’d been detecting where there’d usually be their own in her head.

“Well, I’d like to focus on getting my magic within order at some point… but… at least for the time being…” Sothis turns to look at Byleth, a tiny smile adorning her features. “I intend to reap the benefits of my ‘transformation’ as much as I can.”

Byleth feels a twinge of mirth there. “I can’t say I mind that all too much.”

“Neither can I.” Sothis looks down at herself and, rather crassly, pokes the right side of her chest. “Plus, I have breasts again, which is a massive improvement from my days as a cutting board.”

Byleth blushes rather heavily, and Rhea looks, frankly, aghast.

“M-Mother!”

“What?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Am I not allowed to celebrate the positives of this situation as well?”

“That’s– you–” Rhea takes a deep, hopefully calming breath, even though Byleth can’t help thinking that her efforts there are doomed. “Certain things should remain unsaid in the company of one’s children, don’t you think!?”

“Well, I don’t actually, why’s that?”

She really wishes she were anywhere else right now, but unfortunately; her legs don’t really work at the moment.

“Because you–”

The flap to their tent is flung open, and another figure, who seems rather terribly confused, pushes their way into their tent. Normally, Byleth would complain, but given that the woman there is the person who’d set this entire place up in the first place, she feels she has the right to intrude at her leisure.

“Uhm…” Mercedes pauses uneasily in the doorway, evidently having something to say. “Should… should I come back later?”

“No.” Byleth practically begs. “ ** _Please_** stay. You look like you have something on your mind, what’s up?”

Sothis and Rhea put away their bickering for a moment, (it occurs to her that she should perhaps refer to the woman as Seiros now, but, unfortunately, she’d long since trained herself not to do that, because calling Rhea ‘Seiros’ on accident during their days of resetting had always been a rather quick ticket to dying) and turn towards Mercedes as well, clearly curious, if not a little miffed they’ve been interrupted.

“Uhm, well, actually…” Their chief medical officer seems to be having a hard time explaining whenever it is that’s on her mind. Eventually, she settles with merely pointing outside the tent over her shoulder with her thumb. “You’ll probably need to come and see, anyways. I’ll explain on the way, okay?”

Byleth tilts her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, you’re telling me to get out of bed?”

“Yes.”

Her head tilts somehow further. “Weren’t you the one who specifically told me to not get up under any circumstance?”

Mercedes sighs. “Yes, Professor, that was what I said.”

“Then…”

“I simply thought that this was important enough to make an exception.”

If that’s the case, then…

_“Wow… this must be **really** important.” _

_“Yeah. It must be.”_

It’s been so long since she’s heard her Goddesses voice in her head that she’s actually managed to forget she can do that. Having it come out of nowhere as it had, she actually lets out a tiny yelp, and jumps slightly in surprise. Mercedes eyes her oddly.

“Are you alright, Professor?”

 _“Hey, you alright?”_ Sothis’ voice calls again.

“F-Fine.” She chokes out as answer to both of them past her frantically beating heart, shimmying out from under the many layers of blankets and the like that’d been set up for her, and onto the tarp laid over the grassy field beneath them they’d set up to camp upon. “So, where are we headed?”

“To my personal tent.” She explains, gesturing for her to follow. “Once more, I’ll explain as we go.”

A hand grips onto her shoulder, and she turns to see not just Sothis following them, but Rhea as well.

“Would you mind if I came along?” The woman asked her rather vulnerably. “I… I’d like to keep speaking with my mother if that’s alright. I haven’t seen her in an awfully long time.”

Byleth nods amicably. “Of course, it’s alright. Stick around as long as you want.”

Rhea smiles back at her. “Thank you.”

As Sothis files in next to her, she grips onto the Goddess’ hand as they set out.

Mercedes leads them out of the tent, and through the string of other camps and makeshift housing that’ve been set up to accommodate their armies while they heal their injured. Immediately, she notes that Mercedes had been right about one thing…

She probably shouldn’t be walking.

Even after a week of rest, her legs feel like jelly as she puts weight upon them and follows behind Mercedes. It honestly doesn’t even surprise her that, when she turns around to see how Sothis is doing, the two of them sharing their physical states, she finds her riding piggy-back on Rhea, who’s smiling a bit exasperatedly at carrying along her mother.

She’d forgotten, over the course of the week, that Sothis had been almost entirely unable to walk when she’d first shown up as a tangible being, nearly immediately falling over. She’d initially thought it fair to blame that on muscle atrophy, given the girl hadn’t actually walked in well over seven millennia, but they’d discovered that it might’ve also had something to do with Byleth’s own injuries mirroring themselves on Sothis. Still, they’ll have to warm her back up to the activity, since Byleth, as much as she loves the woman, refuses to carry her everywhere they go.

“So, Mercedes,” She finally works up the strength to speak. “What exactly are we doing this for again? Cause I’d really like to go lay back down, as strange as that sounds.”

The girl seems to think for a moment on how best to phrase this.

“Well… I noticed an anomaly a few days ago but wasn’t quite sure if it was worth reporting at the time. You were, at that point, passed out, as you may recall, and with the Goddess herself being present, the injured to worry about, and a million other things as well, I decided to keep quiet. Besides, if I was right, then time wasn’t going to have any affect anyways.”

“And were you? Right, I mean.”

“I was.” She confirms as they step into a veritable maze of pathways between multiple large medical tents. “Just in here… you’ll see what I’m talking about fairly quickly, I’d imagine.”

They file into Mercedes’ personal tent fairly quickly, and Byleth’s eyes immediately lock on a figure laying in the middle of the room, atop a medical cot. A sheet is drawn up over their body to cover everything below the tops of the woman’s breasts, but other than her stark nudeness, there seems to be nothing else that’s odd about the calmly resting figure.

But no… her chest does not move. Her diaphragm does not oscillate with breath. She is dead, that much is certain. But given how much time had passed since her death… she should’ve been smelling and rotting, or at the very least bloated severely. That she looks almost entirely normal…

“It’s…” Her voice comes out, but it falters almost immediately.

“The same as yours was,” Mercedes picks up for her when her words cease.

“Kronya’s body… it hasn’t decayed.”

Byleth’s heart skips a beat.

It seems, from the look of surprise on her face, that Rhea has not gotten the chance to see this either. She gazes long and hard at Kronya’s still corpse, and walks up to it, placing her hand underneath the tarp that covers her, and, from the shuffling of the fabric, upon what looks to be the girl’s wrist. She feels there for a while, and, after seemingly gathering the information she’d been after, pulls her hand back out.

“She has some of my blood in her system.” She clarifies. “Because of that, her body is showing some of the characteristics of a Nabatean, including the lack of decomposition present in our forms. After all, that’s what allowed the Heroes Relics to be fashioned from our bones in the first place. Still… I had no idea these symptoms would show themselves, even in a case such as hers. Only half of the blood in her body is mine… and it’s not as if her body was born a Nabatean…” Rhea pauses, considering something. “Then again, barely a drop allowed Jeralt to become a pseudo-immortal himself, so I suppose the precedent is there. I was aware that the process of preserving the body after death was done by the blood itself, but… How intriguing, I wouldn’t have guessed that with only this amount… Though I suppose it could be…”

She turns to look at Rhea, frankly flabbergasted. “W-wait a second!” In her heart is a tiny, miniscule hope, one she doesn’t want to feed, but can barely stave off. “What does all of that mean?”

“I imagine it would mean that her natural magic still resides within her body, the same as yours did, the same as the natural magic of a Nabatean still resides within their crest stone. For you, and for her, such a relationship does not abide to nature’s laws. Whereas the magic of a Nabatean would normally reside within the crest stone, perpetuating their lives and allowing their soul to continue onwards even after the bodies death… without one, it… stagnates. I do not know how quite to describe it.”

Byleth nods, only very barely paying attention. Luckily, Sothis can read that her emotions are, frankly, going haywire, and places a hand upon her shoulder, shooting a supportive smile her way when she turns her head to look.

“Thanks…” She murmurs, before turning back towards Rhea. “So… I hate to ask but could you maybe simplify that further? You… kind of lost me.”

Rhea purses her lips, thinking hard. In that same moment, as the woman is thinking about what to say, Mercedes nods her head, and files out silently, as if seeing that her personal usefulness has ended. Byleth can’t help disagreeing with the girls assessment; she could really use the moral support, but she gets why she’s done it, at the very least.

“In simpler terms, the magics that would normally reside within her crest stone are instead circulating within her body. As her blood is mine own, it follows the rules of Nabatean ichor. The magic travels through her blood stream, through her nerves, her muscles, trying to find her crest stone; something that does not exist. In this case, it would be useful to think of those magics as a form of consciousness. The energy that makes up her being itself is distorted, trapped. It has nowhere to go, essentially. This locks the soul in a state of purgatory, as instead of gathering inside of the crest stone, and allowing the spirit itself to either recombine or fade, it is caught in a constant state of agitation, never allowed to do anything at all. You yourself went through it, or, at least, I would imagine you did.” She steps around the cot, and directly in front of Byleth herself. “If you don’t mind, would you describe your experience while you were ‘dead’ for us? It may help to unravel some of this.”

She nods her head, still reeling. “I was… Within an empty, black void of pure nothing. I could move my body, but I couldn’t do anything other than that, well, at least until my mother showed up.”

Rhea’s eyes widen. “Your mother? Do you mean… Sitri?”

She hums in acknowledgement. “It was like… The moment she spoke to me, I , in exchange, slowly started remembering how to as well. And… then she got me out of there. She put me back on my feet and used her own energy to fuel my dying body. She talked me out of the funk I was stuck in, and got me to want to get back up; to save everyone. After that… a golden gate appeared and I… stepped into it. I woke up immediately afterwards.”

Sothis, who had heard this from her earlier in the week already, reaches across and takes Byleth’s hand in her own. She squeezes slightly to let her patron goddess know the contact is appreciated.

“I saw her again when… well, when whatever it was that was happening after I defeated Sothis was going on. She… said goodbye, and then…” She finds her eyes somewhat watery. “I imagine she passed on.”

She looks up, and sees that Rhea is much the same as her. Her eyes are watery, and a few tears run down her face.

“R-Really?” She says with a disbelieving expression. “So, she… you got to meet her?”

She nods, smiling sadly. “I did. She… she was great. I’m glad I got the chance, even if it was only for a little while.”

Rhea sniffles a few times as she turns away from them and brings a cloth from out of her habit to dab at her eyes. She turns back around with puffy eyes, but a warm smile, as if having finally gained closure on something that’d bothered her for a long time.

“You’ve no idea how happy that makes me to hear… but, well, we’re getting off topic once again. I’d like to hear all the two of you said to one another at a later date, but for now, let’s keep our focus here.”

She nods to show her agreement on that front. “So… what can we do?”

Rhea shakes her head.

“Under normal circumstances, there’d be nothing _to do_. She would be lost within a haze of magical consciousness until her magic finally dispersed naturally, which… would take quite a while, perhaps centuries, and for her, as I imagine it was for you, it would feel like far longer than that.” She turns to Sothis, and in that moment, she seems to gain some small confidence. “But with mother here, even with her powers as diminished as they are, I think we may be able to fashion a proper miracle.”

Byleth turns to her better half, wondering if the woman can come up with something. Sothis sighs, and briefly, she fears the worst, before the goddess looks up to two of them with a conflicted expression.

“There is… _something_.”

She feels some part of her soar at that.

“What is it?”

Sothis lets out a long and horrid groan, as if already regretting opening her mouth in the first place.

“It’s not exactly an easy call to make.”

She can’t believe that to be true. “If we can save her life, then isn’t that worth it?”

Sothis turns to her, and there’s a certain doubt in her expression that gives Byleth pause. “Even if it meant abandoning our ability to save others in the future?”

She feels a kernel of dread build within her at that.

“What… do you mean?”

Sothis lets out a conflicted breath, looking down at the grassy earth beneath them upon which this tent had been erected.

“It’s not as simple for her as it was for you. Your mother gave the last remnants of her own life force to you as a child when you were born, by transferring her natural magics, perhaps without even meaning to do so, given she was already on the brink of death as things were, into _my_ crest stone as it was passed to you. It was absorbed into your body over a long period, over the course of your full lifetime, or, well, the twenty-five-ish years your body has been alive, I should say. Her innate desire to protect her child was what allowed her to resuscitate you. The connection the two of you shared. And thanks to you having a cavity of missing magic due to Thales removing my crest stone from you, your newly healed heart, courtesy of the medical corps, became an easy target for that magic to be transferred into in the meantime. Even with all of that, it was still a temporary measure. You barely lasted a week and a half with that set-up, because your mother’s magic had nothing substantial to cling to. It was far from a permanent solution.”

“So… what does that mean?”

Sothis bites down on her bottom lip. “Your revival hinged on a set of circumstances that we can’t exactly replicate here. Kronya has no one else’s natural life energy within her. And she has no receptacle to handle the magic she’d be receiving. Even _if_ we somehow managed to get it to her, through all of that, she’d likely only be sustained for as long as her heart could handle that magic, around the same period as yours did; two weeks, at a maximum. The only thing she has going for her is that you two _do_ share a connection, as odd as it is of one. I could probably forge a link between you two using it, but… there’d be nothing to do with it.”

She practically falls to the floor, as filled with shattered hope as she is. Rhea steps over towards her and places a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her, and though she appreciates it, it is ultimately Sothis’ own words from the start of their conversation that give pause to her sorrow.

“But… didn’t you say there was something we could do?”

“I said there was _something_.” Sothis corrects. “There is a distinction, in that I am not entirely sure we can _do_ it. It’s… reaching, and that’s underselling it.”

“What is it?”

Sothis gives her the explanation, and she can see exactly why she’d been so hesitant as she finishes speaking. She stands entirely still for a moment as she contemplates her goddess’ proposal. It is not an easy decision to make, just as she’d said it would not be. As Sothis had explained, the benefits could arguably outweigh the cost here. By not doing this, they might gain access to things beyond reckoning, powers that laid outside the bounds of humanity, of even the Nabateans. All they’d have to do would be to not try this; to move on, to accept Kronya’s fate…

…But even so…

She’s never been much good at that, for better or for worse.

She finds a smile coming to her face as she looks up at Sothis, who even now is staring at her expectantly, like she already knows what her answer will be.

That is likely because she truly does.

“You’ve already read my thoughts on the matter, haven’t you?”

She sighs a bit exasperatedly. “Yes.”

“And… you’re fine with that? With the cost?”

Sothis nods her head, completely assuredly. “I am.”

Byleth finds herself smiling. “Then you already know what we’re doing.”

Sothis stares confidently back at her. “I do.”

She walks over to where Kronya’s body lays entirely still and places her right hand atop her heart. Sothis does the same, standing on the opposite side and mirroring her motion, doing what she’d said she could earlier, and beginning to forge a connection. Byleth looks up into her goddesses eyes, and nods.

“So…” Rhea’s voice sounds nervous, uncertain. “You’re going to go through with it?”

Both she and Sothis nod.

“This was never about us.” She speaks, giving Rhea a grateful nod as the woman herself steps back from them. “It was about them. Our students, our friends, and colleagues. Those people who’d be killed if we stood idle. And right here and now, no matter the cost, no matter the price, we can save one of them. If that’s the case…”

She can feel as Sothis begins whatever process it is that will let them do this. Their energies begin to merge together, as well as a wide variety of other things that she has no hope of possibly fathoming, let alone describing.

“I’d say we don’t have any choice but to do this.”

And then her vision fills with black.

\-----

All things considered, Kronya can’t really begrudge the universe the fate it’s chosen for her.

Trapped in an endless black void, lacking the ability to speak, to grow tired or hungry, to even _die_ … she realizes after what feels like an eternity of being trapped here that this must be hell. With all the things she’s done in her life, she deserves it, if she’s being honest. Even still, it is far worse than she’d imagined it. At least the eternal flames she’d always pictured would’ve kept her distracted, out of her own head.

Here… she has nothing but her thoughts to focus on.

It’s torturous.

She has no real concept of how long she’s been here for. It’s possible she’s only been here a few months, but if someone had come up to her and said _‘hey, you’ve been here for about 3000 years’_ she wouldn’t have doubted that either. It feels like another eternity passes by the time she gives up, laying down on the ground and simply… ceasing. She ceases to think, to feel, or to hurt, content to simply try and fade away.

And it is then that she hears a voice call out to her.

“Hey, Kronya.”

Her eyes widen as a rather striking realization hits her.

She recognizes that voice.

She turns herself around as best she can and stares off into the blackness just beyond her in the direction the voice had come from. A figure is standing there, silhouetted against the nothingness beyond.

For some unknown reason, Byleth glows an almost ethereal green.

“What… are you doing here?” She finds words coming to her somehow, as if her body has only just remembered that speech is a possibility. A likely reason for the woman’s appearance hits her a moment later, and she lets out an aching groan. “Don’t tell me you went and got yourself damned to hell along with me…”

Byleth laughs good-naturedly, rubbing the back of her neck with her right hand in a semi-awkward fashion. The left half of her body seems entirely unresponsive, and though she’s not sure why that would be the case if they’re both dead…

“No.” She smiles. “Unfortunately, it’s nowhere near that simple to explain.”

The woman walks towards her, and as she does, another figure appears beside her. Her appearance has changed compared to the given memories that reside within Kronya’s head, she looks a good few years older, for one, but regardless, she can’t help but think that she knows who this is.

“So…this?” Her voice is weaker than she’d like it to be, projecting not the strength she usually tries for, but a weakness that makes her seem brittle and feeble. She shakes her head, trying to remove that weakness as she looks up at the two in front of her once again. “You’re Sothis, right?”

Briefly, the goddess seems surprised, before a flash of recognition crosses along her face.

“Right, I suppose Byleth did tell me you had her memories implanted into you.” Sothis rubs her chin, stroking an imaginary beard as she steps right up to Kronya and places her hand over her heart. She’s about to protest the odd happening before her, but before she can, Sothis has pulled away. “Hm… it’s as I thought. You possess nothing that would do as a receptacle.”

She tilts her head, kind of wondering just what the hell the woman is going on about.

“A receptacle?” She asks. “For… what, exactly?”

“To fill you with magic, to recontextualize your body’s natural magics in order to restart your system. Essentially, to give you a stand-in crest stone.” Sothis explains, though Kronya had mentally checked out of the woman’s words quite a while before then. “In simpler terms: we’re going to restart your magics and resuscitate you.”

“You’re going to… revive me?”

“Yeah,” Byleth nodded. “Or, well, that’s the plan, at least.”

Her eyes widen at that, and she forces herself to crush an errant hope that breaks out of her cynical self. Along with it is another feeling, a primal sort of fear that burns at the back of her head, but she rattles it out of her skull a moment later, doing her best to ignore it entirely.

“How would… no, what even…” She shakes her head, too scatterbrained from spending what feels like an eternity all on her lonesome within the nothingness of this still space. “Okay, Byleth, what the fuck are you going on about?”

The woman across from her snorts. “Good to know you’ve not lost the attitude.”

“Answer the damned question.” She glares along with her words, though, a moment later, she realizes she should probably be a bit kinder, because if there’s one thing she’s learned across all her lifetimes… shit, no, those are Byleth’s memories, not her own.

She’s constantly annoyed by the fact that they continue to crop up, continue to plague her mind as if they’re her own, despite her numerous attempts to weed them out of her head. But she has far more memories of being Byleth than she does of being… well, herself. She’s not even twenty-five years old in human terms, and Byleth’s going on sixty-five hundred.

“Right, so…” Byleth scratches the back of her neck. “Shit, how best to explain this… uh…” She turns to the goddess beside her. “Sothis would you mind taking over?”

Said goddess does so without much hesitation.

“Right, so, were you to possess a receptacle, which, as we’ve already discussed, you don’t, then this would be easy. We’d pump enough Life Energy into that container until your natural magics latched onto it, fed themselves, and you came back.”

Kronya nods, pretending as if she understands a word of that.

“Since you don’t, we need to get a bit… crafty.”

She nods again, this time meaning it, because craftiness is something she can at the very least jive with.

“And so… well, I suppose we should start at the beginning.” Sothis sighs out, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “Byleth, you should probably handle this, given that I was tied to Mr. destroy-the-world for most of it.”

The woman nods to her little butt buddy, swapping off again, despite them quite literally having _just_ done so, before picking up where she left off. She tells Kronya of how she, and the rest of their forces had won their fights (and also tells Kronya of how so many of them had _definitely_ become couples now, and she **_really_** hates the fact that there’s a Byleth-shaped part of her mind that cares) and, with a little help from her dad, Rhea, and Sothis herself, they’d felled Nemesis, and saved the world.

“Neat. You won. Super.” She waits for something of value to be said. Nothing comes. “So, uh… what does any of that have to do with me, exactly?”

“Well, after the fight, I initially thought that, because I’d utilized Athame to strike that final blow against Nemesis, and a piece of it had sunken into his body, and impacted against Sothis’ crest stone, that she’d be bereft of her powers entirely, basically a regular Nabatean in all but name.”

“I’m taking it from the way you’re talking that that’s not the case?”

“No. Sothis didn’t lose her powers. They’ve gone dormant as the basin in which we’d normally store them has been overloaded by Nemesis’ life energy. During our fight with the man, Sothis was sapping his strength the entire time in an effort to drain him of as much power as she could. She more than filled her own natural magic basin with his energy, in fact, she overloaded it, to the point where she needed to remove all of her own magic to fit his own. Normally, it would’ve simply emptied out, but something about Athame’s presence sealed it within our basin of power. Which means, until it’s purged, we have no ability to utilize her powers.”

She understands that somewhat.

“Conversely, that energy’s slowly being absorbed into Sothis’ body. Which means, when she _does_ manage to fully absorb his life energy, and fill it with her natural magics again, they’ll be at an even greater level than they were before.” Byleth speaks, and Kronya can see in the way that Byleth fiddles with her fingers, oscillating them in an odd pattern, that she can _feel_ the potential of that power at those very fingertips, and it must feel _good._ “She’d likely lose her physical form, but in exchange… we’d gain the ability to move forward through time, to control the past, the present, and even the future. We could speed it up or slow it down, isolate a single target in a solitary moment of time itself, or entirely remove chunks of time that we found unsatisfactory…” She looks into Kronya’s eyes. “Anything you could think of would be ours.”

“You’d… be as gods.” She mutters, finding herself almost wanting to step away, the look in Byleth’s eyes, that power there, almost too much, even for her.

Byleth nods slowly, looking down at the floor and avoiding both hers and Sothis’ eyes. After a brief moment, however, she smiles, and turns her head back up.

“But… that would only encourage my regression. The ability to reign over time, over life and death itself, to control mere moments for one, whilst eliminating others… That’s too much, even for us.” Byleth speaks, seeming almost matter of fact about that truth. “And so instead, we’re going to give it up.”

Kronya’s eyes go incredibly wide at the raw shock from those words.

“W-What!?”

“The basin that stores our magic, that grants us our ability to control time…” Sothis steps forward, placing a hand over her heart. “We’re giving it to you. So that you might be able to gain Nemesis’ life energy, which resides inside of it, and come back to us. It’ll act as both the surge of magical energy your system needs, and as the receptacle in which to handle it.”

She cannot comprehend that; she stands no chance of even coming close to understanding the two women’s thought process of how they could possibly come to such a decision.

“But… that’s…”

Byleth smiles, stepping towards her in the empty expanse, even as Kronya stands and pushes herself back and away from her.

“You asked me what the future held for Byleth Eisner, strongest warrior in all of Fódlan, right?” She asks cockily, seeming oh so very confident in herself as she places a single and over her heart, mirroring Sothis’ own motion. “Well, I have an answer for you, now. I will protect the people I love with every fiber of my being. I will live to see them grow, and love, and win, and lose, and everything in between, and yes, one day I will have to say goodbye to them as well. But even so, I won’t allow my fear to stop me from doing what’s right anymore. I promised a girl dying in my arms once that I’d save this land.” That particular memory, of holding Bernadetta’s charred and lifeless body in the lifetime just before this one, plays in Kronya’s head. “I promised I’d save her, and everyone else. That I wouldn’t let a single one of you perish.” She takes a single step forward, one filled with absolute conviction. “I intend to make good on my word, here and now… And to prove it…” Sothis nods to Byleth, as if giving one last affirmative. “I’m going to give my weakness, the fear I carry… to you. So that you might live, so that you might get to enjoy the life you deserve.”

And as she looks up at Kronya once more, the look on her face is one of absolute assuredness.

“We’ll face the future. All of us, together.”

Sothis looks to Byleth with a proud, loving smile at those words. Kronya knows why; the tiny memories she’d picked up from the Goddess as artifacts of Thales’ machinations had given her that information. The Goddess had always wanted Byleth to move on, to continue forth. Now… it seems she’ll get her wish.

But…

Kronya shakes her head, unable to accept that so easily.

“You’re giving up godhood… for me?”

“Yep.” Byleth answers easily; _effortlessly_ , but then, laughing slightly, continues. “Well, I’ve also rather enjoyed having Sothis _here_ beside me, instead of just in spirit. This has some other benefits besides bringing you back, too, even if that is the main one.”

She… once more, she finds herself fully unable to comprehend that. That they’d surrender all of their power, what they’d founded their entire journey upon, just to bring some nobody back from the grave, to save her from the fate she’d been destined from the moment she’d been born an Agarthan…

She feels a flash of discomfort as another round of memories play through her head, of a thousand different Byleth’s all trying to save a thousand different Kronya’s, even knowing that saving her is nigh impossible. She watches as the Kronya’s they meet rebuff their attempts, and most inevitably die at Solon’s hand. Some, those saved from immediate death, still die at Gronder, unable to be rescued from that, and some die in Embarr, finally killed by an errant arrow or spear. In other paths, other routes, with other houses, she dies in a million other places. Hell, sometimes, a lucky few even make it all the way to Shambala, but always… _always…_ they’re killed there. None ever make it farther than that.

And the world flourishes just fine without her afterwards. The people rejoice as a leader, normally Byleth themselves, takes the throne of the world, and the war is done, but Byleth, ever the perfectionist, ever the ill-fated dreamer, is never content. They jump back in, continue on as if saving the world itself is nothing, and go back six years, back to the beginning, to try it all again.

And for _what!?_ For…

For _her!?_

She grinds her teeth together as she rounds on the idiots before her, balling her hands into fists in an effort to have anything to do with them at all.

No. The resets aren’t for her. The resets are for people like Rhea, and Edelgard, and Dimitri and Claude, and all of her students. Kronya, she… she’s not important.

That has to be it.

“Why!?” She screeches, and even though it hurts to speak so loudly, she can’t stop herself, despite barely knowing what she wants to say in the first place. “Why would you – you damned fool! I’m not some hero like the rest of them. I’m no savior king like Dimitri! I’m no gallant rogue like Claude! I’m not some ‘misunderstood’ empress! And I’m pretty _damned_ sure I’m not the fucking pope with an Oedipus complex!”

Sothis raises a hand. “I resent that.”

“I don’t care!” Kronya screams at her. “You’re… Byleth you’re making a mistake. I _don’t_ matter.” She clenches her teeth. “So, don’t bother with this. Go. Go back to your students and your friends and everyone else.” She turns away, feeling a burning feeling behind her eyes that must be her rage. “The world you all live in… it’s not for people like me.”

Despite all of what she’s just said, despite everything they’ve been through, the only thing Byleth answers with, almost immediately, is a laugh. Kronya wants to be angrier about that, but, for some reason, her heart seems to soar.

She bears down on that feeling with her full weight, smothering the joy within before it can infest the rest of her. It will be the death of her if she doesn’t, after all.

“Sorry, Kronya, but you’re wrong.” She can see out of the corner of her eye as Byleth takes a few more steps forward. “This world is for people exactly like you.”

“Why, how could you possibly think–”

“Because you’re someone I love, the exact same as them.”

Kronya’s mouth practically _seals_ shut.

“Because to me, you’re someone I can’t allow to die, someone I’m willing to reset over and over and over again just to save, exactly the same as someone like Dimitri, or Claude, or Edelgard, or Rhea, or any of my other students or friends.” Byleth steps towards her once more, and she can see out of the corner of her eye as she holds her hand out towards her, offering it as a sign of peace, of joining. “You can hate me for that if you’d like… But I’m not giving up on you, Kronya. Not this time.”

She shakes her head, stepping away from her once more.

“You… you didn’t believe that before…” She hates how pathetic she sounds; how… how _terrified_ she sounds. “You… and Sothis both thought that… that you couldn’t save me… so… so you…”

“I didn’t understand my own feelings.” Byleth smiles a bit melancholically. “I’ve changed my mind, now. As has Sothis. I won’t let you die. No matter what.”

“…You’re such an idiot.”

Byleth takes a solitary step forward, as does Sothis, just behind her.

“Probably, yeah.”

She feels that same fire from earlier, the rage behind her eyes, in that moment, and erupts in anger.

“You’re a damned fool who doesn’t know when to quit!” She screams at the void beneath her.

If anything, Byleth seems to take that as a compliment.

“I pride myself on that fact.”

She finally turns back around, looking Byleth in the eye with heat building in her head. She can barely think anymore, and she’s not even sure why she’s so mad, when she knows Byleth’s just trying to help–

 _“No!”_ Some voice screams from inside of her. _“That’s not it! There… there has to be something else! Some other reason…!”_

“Why… why are you… How can you make jokes about something like this!?” She screams at the woman across from her. “You’re giving up everything you’ve worked for, the chance to spend time with those kids for as long as you’d ever want to… all… all for me?”

Byleth merely smiles.

“Yeah, I am. _We_ are.” She corrects after a moment.

She flinches again and feels as the empty cosmos around them shudders in tune with her. Sothis seems to notice that, her lips curling into a tiny frown.

“You told me to do so, showed me that Sothis wanted me to, and honestly, I’m pretty sure those kids would want me too as well.” She sighs out, as if a bit disappointed, likely in herself for having never realized on her own. “So, of course, I’d do this. But… me giving up godhood for you shouldn’t matter. I’m abandoning the thing you told me to abandon, after all, following your words, right? No… that’s not why you’re so broken up about this, is it?”

She can’t meet Byleth’s eyes for some reason. Well, ‘for some reason’ being a rather facetious term, as she has some idea as to why.

“It’s almost funny… I noticed this when we last fought back at Embarr, when we clashed, and you lay defeated… even back then, you wouldn’t let me save you. You still wanted to go back to Those Who Slither, even knowing it would likely be the end for you…”

_“I’m afraid me and your little band of children don’t mesh very well, sorry.” Kronya shakes her head. “But honestly… you really are…”_

_Before the girl can get another word in edgewise, the castle physically shakes._

_“Isn’t that your cue to leave?” The girl looks up at her face. “Forget about me. Save lover boy and his pretty little princess over there. That’s what you came here for, right?”_

“I think… I finally understand now just why you wouldn’t take my hand back then.” Byleth says as she walks towards her again, and as Kronya backs away, the universe gives another tiny creak. “Existing in the same world as them… walking alongside them, that’s never been why you didn’t want to join up with us… It’s never been about having to adjust your behavior to be ‘friendly’ or ‘nice’…” There’s something in Byleth’s words that forces Kronya to look up; forces her to meet the woman’s eyes. “It’s because you’re scared, isn’t it?.”

She flinches at that, and desperately tries to pretend she hasn’t, to straighten her body out once more, but it’s to no avail. Byleth has seen her, and her eyebrows are drawn down in pity. She hates that look more than anything. Like she’s some kind of starving dog on the side of the street.

“More specifically, you’re scared of trusting people, aren’t you? You’re scared that even after all of this, all we’ve been through, I’ll betray you in the end for myself. Because… because you’ve never known someone who wouldn’t. Because of the way the Agarthans raised you as a spy, programmed into you that you couldn’t believe in a single soul, and stabbed you in the back when your use had ended. And yet, that consistency became normalcy, almost comforting. It wasn’t terrifying like the potential of something new. You learned to find some solace in that. At least there, things were uncomplicated. At least there, the knowledge you could trust no one was an unassailable truth, one you didn’t have to question, or have be questioned. At least there… no one would challenge the mindset you’d taken. That’s why you were so confused after I first spared your life.”

_“What the hell are you trying to pull, huh!?” Kronya grinds her teeth together. “I don’t owe you shit, if that’s what you’re thinking!”_

_“That’s not what I’m thinking.” Byleth speaks somewhat truthfully. “I’m just asking you not to try and kill any of us as long as we give you that same treatment.”_

“You couldn’t fathom someone not trying to gain something from you; couldn’t fathom why someone wouldn’t just kill you when you’d failed. After all, any of the Agarthans would’ve; hell, Solon _tried_ to. That’s why you fought me at Gronder, wanting to eliminate me to both regain your standing within Those Who Slither, and to make your life simplistic once more, to eliminate that tiny question in the back of your head that asked ‘why?’.”

_“Did you miss me?” Kronya’s blade, a newly enchanted Athame, rains down upon her. She narrowly ducks underneath each one. “I know I missed you! I’ve been waiting to cut your damned head from your spine!”_

_…_

_She hears Kronya scream something at her back, likely a curse for letting her survive once again, but honestly, she doesn’t really care at the moment._

“And at Embarr when I wouldn’t strike you down, once more, you asked another question. Why would I care whether or not you lived or died?”

_“Why…” Kronya shakes her head, clawing down the sides of her skull. “Why won’t you just fucking kill me already!?”_

_“Because I don’t want you to die.” She speaks. “It’s not a complicated thing.”_

_Kronya lowers her head, the scratches she’s left in it bleeding and dripping down onto her cheeks and chin. She falls to her knees, her entire body limp and lifeless._

“And even your body, bereft of a will, still singled me out in Shambala.”

_“Hey, Kronya?” She speaks, and she’s quietly thrilled that, even past the façade hanging over her, the girl still looks up at the sound of her name. “If you can hear me in there… then don’t worry. I’m going to free you.”_

_Kronya’s body roars._

“You’d never experienced that kindness in your life; had absolutely nothing to make of it. It was unfamiliar, new, in a scary way that the torture, the horrid treatment, the abuse, wasn’t. And I think you eventually grew to value that, didn’t you? But even so, you were still terrified to act on that feeling for fear of consequence; for fear that, in the end, I’d still end up being like everyone else you’d ever met. Just like Solon, or Thales, or Cornelia. Just in it for myself. That’s why you only ever acted on your feelings when you thought it would cost you your life. When you saved me at Embarr, taking a stand against the Agarthans all on your lonesome, you could finally be honest with yourself, of how you’d wanted to be the entire time, because there were no consequences if your sentiments were rebuffed.”

_“Eh… who knows? But… I’d have probably been punished pretty hard for failing to beat her again anyways… if they didn’t just dispose of me outright. And… I just thought, fuck it. She’s the only person who’s ever been anything other than horrible to me… ever. Figured, hell, if I’m going out regardless, I might as well pay that back, even if I kept claimin’ I didn’t owe her shit.”_

_“Take care of her. And don’t you dare get cowed now, Byleth! Nor any of you kids! Win! Save your fucking precious little world!”_

“And when you chose to allow me to kill you, in order to deliver that last piece of truth, once again, you were true to yourself. Because there would be no lasting consequences if I doubted you, no big problem if I somehow betrayed your hopes then and there. After all, you’d die a moment later. You’d fade from the world, regardless of whether or not your trust mattered, regardless of the outcome, of whether or not I was someone worthy of that belief, of whether or not I betrayed you, used you for my own aims. No matter what, the end result, your death, would be the same. You could do what you’d always really wanted to with a smile on your face because there’d be no consequences to face besides the ones you’d chosen to bring upon yourself. You didn’t even want me to come back for you, so content you were with not having to know, not having to face the question on your mind.”

_“But… Before I… I have a request.”_

_“… Anything.”_

_“Make this… the end of it. Even once you get Sothis back, don’t… don’t rewind back to the beginning just to save little old me.”_

“And at the time, I didn’t question that. Both occasions, when you saved me at Embarr, and when you truly died at Shambala, I had no choice but to keep going, never enough time to question that behavior, but… but now… I see. For you, the thought of having to continue to live, of having to continue dealing with those who may very well turn their backs on you, regardless of how you feel about them… of potentially being scorned for no better reason than on a whim… that’s more horrifying than anything the Agarthans could thrust on you, isn’t it?”

Her nails dig into her skin, and she feels that if it had been possible for them to actually cut into her flesh, or to wound her in any way in this empty void, they’d have spilled a good deal of her now immortal blood into the eternity surrounding them.

She can feel the universe around her shudder too, as if in response to her actions. As if an invisible force is closing down around them both, and though she can feel it, only Sothis seems to respond to the feeling.

“How did you…”

“Kronya I have a goddess who can remember quite literally _anything_ she’s ever heard talking to me in my head, and even the moments she wasn’t there for were some of the more traumatic moments in my life; trust me, I remember all of it. Added onto that, I’ve been alive over six millennia. For most of that time, I have been trying to solve the issues of a bunch of teenagers with continent-shaking power. I am in all but name the world’s greatest therapist at this point.”

The smile on Byleth’s face seems to suggest she’s rather amused about that comment, and though Kronya wants to rip her damned head off for that smug fucking attitude… she finds herself hesitating as well. By the time she’s ready to do… well, _anything,_ Byleth’s already continuing.

“I think, up until now, I used to assume you were just remarkably well adjusted to the circumstances you’d undertaken, but I see what it is now. The attitude, the lashing out, that scares any would-be threats away, and if anyone gets closer than that, well, that’s what Athame’s there for, right? It’s all one giant coping mechanism for the hand the world dealt to you. But… those that approach you even still after that… people like me… people who neither words nor blades can fell, well, you have no choice but to hide away from them, right? To rebuff every advance, because if you trust them… they’ll just stab you in the back the first chance they get, won’t they?”

She takes a step back from Byleth once more, and the universe once again shakes. “…Shut up, Byleth…”

“That lifetime we spent together… truly was an outlier in that sense. You considered yourself my servant at the start, forced to comply or have your life ended… I was, in essence, no different from Thales; just another master to be followed, unquestioningly, on the quest to survive. But because you were forced to spend so long with me, forced to see how I really was, we grew to trust one another as equals. Over the course of five entire years spent together, and over the course of nearly half your life, a good ten years for you, we became allies who could confide in one another… perhaps more. That time… is something we simply couldn’t have had here. Of course, you can’t trust me as much as you did back then, that’s only natural.”

She lowers her head, her skull aching with an unfamiliar pain, her chest tightening.

“Byleth… I said…”

“But even still, I want you to–”

“SHUT UP!”

The world around them vibrates, as if it has suddenly begun to both storm and quake in one moment. Sothis clenches her jaw in worry as she turns to her partner, and shouts something to her that Kronya only very barely hears.

“Byleth! This place is losing stability!”

The woman in question turns to her goddess with an uncertain look in her eye.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how, or why, but her anger, her fear, her emotions themselves are distorting this very space.” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “I suppose it makes sense, it is, in essence, the emptiness of her soul made manifest. Either way if she bends this place any further…”

“Then what?”

Sothis looks like she’s swallowing on nothing at all.

“Then I think our souls that I’ve transferred within here… can’t leave. _Ever._ ”

Byleth mirrors that same swallowing motion a moment later.

“Ah…”

Kronya pants somehow, despite the lack of any real ability to be out of breath. This world should prevent her from feeling these things, from having these outbursts. It had done it for what felt like an eternity, but somehow now…

“SHUT UP!” She screams again, and she swears she can hear their little pocket of the universe _creak._ “Stop trying to save me! Stop trying to help me! I don’t… I don’t want your damned help! I’m a wretched being! A hideous monster, far beyond saving! I’m a warrior, one of the strongest on this damned continent, I’m not… I’m not…”

“Afraid?” Byleth’s voice comes out again, and it’s so filled with pity that Kronya spits out the moisture in her mouth at the woman, so disgusted she is. It misses Byleth’s face, flying into the void behind her. “Being scared isn’t the end of the world, Kronya. I was scared when I lost Sothis. I was scared when I fought Nemesis. I’m scared now, even, scared that you’ll somehow be lost to me, despite my best efforts.”

Kronya shakes her head in denial. “That’s different! You have an actual reason to be afraid in all of those cases! You were afraid to lose someone, or to lose _to_ someone! And yet, here I am, shaking in my fucking boots because no one gives a shit about me!?” She bites down hard on her bottom lip. “That’s not some secret! That’s not some… Not some hidden truth! I’ve always known that! So…”

She realizes her body is shaking for some reason and bares her teeth in an effort to preserve some show of strength, some intimidation.

“So why am I trembling like some cornered animal!? Why do my eyes burn like they’re aflame, why–” Her jaw is rattling, and she hates it. She hates the way her legs quake, hates the way her arms hold her body, hates the way her teeth chatter; she hates everything. Because it’s easier to hate than trying to do anything else. “Why do I… want someone to…”

Byleth’s says nothing, and the silence hangs over all of them like a blanket; suffocatingly overbearing. It is only a moment later, as the woman takes a single step forward, that Kronya turns and looks up at her, and sees in her eyes something she hadn’t expected to see.

It is not pity. It is not amusement, either. Nor is it anger or sorrow, or any brand of emotion so simple as that.

It is unfiltered resolve.

Raw determination.

“I can’t say I understand what you’re going through…” She opens, giving a soft and tiny smile to her as Kronya begins to take a few more steps back, that is, until she feels a proverbial edge to this world, can tell that if she steps back any further, she’ll ‘ _fall_ ’. “As far back as I can remember, there’s always been someone, somewhere in my life I could trust. Whether that was my father, at first, or Dimitri, once I got to know him. The other lords, once they grew on me, or Sothis, once the two of us made peace with our situation. So… to have no one… no, I’ve no idea what that’s like. But… you know what, Kronya?”

She finds she doesn’t want to respond.

She looks up anyways.

“Truthfully?” The woman smiles. “…I think you trust **_me_**.”

She flinches once more, as does the world around them. She sees as it flashes white, then returns to the black abyss it had been. From the paling of Sothis’ face, she can tell the universe they reside in can’t take much more.

“I’m not going to betray you. I’m not going to leave you here on your own, to spend thousands of years in cold isolation until you eventually fade away. And you know that, don’t you?”

Kronya says nothing.

“But you’re scared. You’re scared because if you’re wrong, then… then you’ll be irreparably hurt. But… if it bears repeating? I’m here because I care too much about any of you to accept a single one of your deaths. I _can_ save you, and… that means that no matter the cost, I _will_ save you. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Byleth takes another step forward, and this time, Kronya can feel the warmth of the woman’s body radiating onto her own, as close the two of them are. Their faces are mere inches apart.

“I believe in you. I believe in your ability, your capacity, to find the strength within yourself to do this. I’ve entrusted you with the fear that _I_ carry… of regressing into someone who cannot handle what the future may bring. Now… now I want you to do the same for me. Please, _trust me_ with your fear.” She pauses after that, leaving the desperation of those words hanging in the air. A moment later, she intakes a bit of breath rather sharply, as if remembering something, before a smug smile comes to her face that seems to say she’s _oh so proud_ of herself. “I know this must be the hardest thing anyone’s ever asked of you, but at the same time… Isn’t it time for you to move on from the influence of the Agarthans, of the control they hold over you, of the fear in your heart? What does life hold for Kronya, second strongest warrior in Fódlan?” She winks at her. “…I think it’s about time that you found out.”

_“I know this must be the hardest thing anyone’s ever asked of you… But at the same time… Isn’t it time for you to move on as well? What does life hold for Byleth Eisner, strongest warrior in Fódlan? …I think it’s about time that you found out.”_

And for some reason, those are the words that crack her. Some part of her simply ceases to function at that, and a small, weak laugh bubbles up past her lips, and emerges from out of her lips, despite her best efforts to hold it down.

And at that moment, the expression on Byleth’s face softens, as if she finally knows, without doubt, that things are going to be okay.

“I hate you…” Kronya mutters quietly, staring down at the ground below her with an exasperated smile set upon her face. “I honestly despise you.”

“I don’t think you do.” Byleth’s cheery disposition is disgusting. “Besides… you still owe me that day out in town.”

Now _that_ has her eyes widening. She looks up at her in shock that she’d even remembered such a trivial thing at all, though, well, Sothis is as good an excuse for that as any other.

“That… was six years ago.” She glares at the woman. “And I have the memories of it from your perspective; even back then, you knew I’d be a no-show, knew I’d try and kill your dad the next day. Hell, you’d already depowered Athame back then!”

“Yep. All of that’s true, but I still haven’t forgotten. You were the one pushing so hard for it, after all.” She smirks a bit deviously. “What, you going to leave a friend hanging?”

“Hah… what would we even do on this little “date” of ours?”

“Maybe grab some ice-cream? I hear it’s to die for.” Byleth seems to ponder something for a moment. “Actually, ixnay on that. We’ve both had enough dying for one lifetime, methinks.”

And for some reason, she’s laughing again. The joke there… it barely even classifies as comedy. She’s cackling, nonetheless. In fact, she’s laughing so hard that she can feel that same burning feeling behind her eyes that’s occasionally been welling up behind her eyes do so once more. She’d thought of it as her rage, before, but…

She’s never cried in her life; hadn’t even thought herself capable of such a thing. Even as the Kronya of the past had watched Byleth die beside her; the man she’d loved without any doubt; she hadn’t shed so much as a single drop.

So, she’s shocked when that burning feeling turns out to be tears building up in her eyes. She feels this shouldn’t be funny anymore, really, because at this point, she’s just making a mockery of herself. But she doesn’t stop laughing. If anything, the laughter just gets worse, and she finds the strength leaving her knees as she falls to the ‘floor’ below her.

The feeling within her, that’s causing those tears to build, and build… is it relief? Relief that she’s not going to die, that she’ll live, even at the cost of Byleth and Sothis’ godhood? Is it anger at Byleth for taking a sledgehammer to the walls she’d put up in front of her heart? Sorrow, Joy, contentment, fury… all of these seem… insufficient. She forces herself to think harder on those emotions, something she’s never been very much good at at all.

When she’d first arrived here, first been ‘killed’ and sentenced to ‘hell’, the memories of Byleth where she’d killed Kronya the same as any other enemy in their earlier meetings had been almost therapeutic. Evidence. There had been evidence that her mistrust, her disbelief that she could possibly, honestly care for her, had been truthful. They’d only actually spent one life together… just one time that she’d been saved, just one time that she’d smiled, and been as happy as she’d ever been, and…

And she’d taken the far larger sample size, ignored the smaller blip as a one-off, and ran with it.

She’d focused on Sothis’ doubt over whether or not she could be changed. She’d focused on Thales’ machinations failing whether or not she did a thing. She focused on the world crumbling to pieces whenever Byleth put too much time into saving her. Clearly… clearly her doubt had been well-founded. That had to be it, she’d told herself.

But then… she’d been unable to fight what she’d seen this life, what the two of them had gone through together. She… she finds she _wants_ to trust Byleth. She wants to so badly, but… there’s a more paranoid part of her, the part of her that’s been in charge of keeping her alive in scraps with larger Agarthans during training, or in the retaliatory strikes after hours when they’d come for the scrawny little bitch who’d beat their ass, or the day after, when she had to somehow keep the quartermaster from tanning her hide as he saw the bastard’s blood caked onto her flesh. Her fear… it’d ruled over her life from practically minute one, and she’d been undeniably the better for it. She’d survived, after all, where most had not. She’d thrived, even, earning a respectable position in the Agarthan forces.

She sees again the sorrowful look on the Kronya of the past’s face as the only person she’d loved had died beside her, and tries to use that as a battering ram against the more emotional feelings running through her. Clearly, she shouldn’t try and become invested. Clearly, she shouldn’t grow to love another. Clearly, she shouldn’t trust a single soul. Because it’ll only hurt her in the end…

But…

She remembers the good times as well. The two of them getting into scraps that they’d barely gotten out of with their lives and laughing for hours recounting their sides of the story. Of freeing towns that’d been taken over by the enemy and celebrating til’ dawn the next day. Of getting the Kingdom and the Alliance to sign a treaty of peace, as short-lived as that had ended up being. Of…

Of slowly, gradually, letting her guard down, and falling in love with that damned idiot.

The emotions within her are a mix of all of those things, but they stem from one single realization.

That if there’s one person she can believe in in all the world, certainly it’s the person whose life she knows every nook and cranny of, has seen all of every little inch. The person who she’s watched through victory and defeat, through love and loss, through life and death. Who… Who…

Who has, throughout everything they’ve gone through in this life, never stopped believing in her.

And in that moment, the dam she’s put up, the veritable fortress she’s assembled to guard her innermost feelings, crumbles to pieces. The first tears she’s shed in her entire life course down her face, though the laughter hasn’t so much as halted. Just as she thinks she’s losing it, that she’s going insane, Byleth wraps her arms around her, and pulls her into a tight hug.

She doesn’t say a thing. Neither does Sothis as she wraps her own arms around her as well. The emotions that’ve built within her from being stuck here for what feels like centuries due to the distorted time, the heightened whiplash of feelings she’s gone through in this conversation alone, the lifetime of neglect and abuse she’s suffered at the Agarthans hands… It all explodes out of her at once.

And she laughs and cries for a long while, curled into a ball, feeling like some weak little child. But… the arms around her do not relent. Neither Byleth’s nor Sothis’ so much as loosen their grip, and that helps her, just a bit.

Makes her feel just the smallest bit stronger.

It feels like it’s been hours when she finally pulls away, and by that time, she’s emotionally recovered enough to speak, at least.

“I…” Her throat is still terribly scratchy, but she pushes on regardless, trying her best to speak past both that feeling, and the wobbling of her lips. “A friend, huh?”

Byleth nods.

“Yeah. A friend who I value just the same as any of the others. Maybe even more if I’m being honest.” She laughs. “We are rivals as well, aren’t we?”

Kronya finds some small satisfaction in that, staring down at the ground below her and giving another quiet breath of laughter. In that next moment, Byleth stands, and offers her hands out to her to help her up.

“Well then…” She dusts off her outfit for no good reason, even though Kronya’s more than positive there’s no dust in here. “Shall we go?”

She stares at the hand outstretched towards her and feels the spark of a memory that isn’t hers. It’s of a situation just like this, of a king adorned in blue, holding out his hand towards an empress in red. The man desperately, _desperately_ wants the woman below him to take his hand, so that they might start over again, so that they might fix the world together…

She answers only with a single dagger.

It is a repeating memory, one she has so many copies of that Kronya cannot even count them all. And yet… She had watched as the two had joined together this life, as they’d broken that infernal cycle.

She remembers back to some of the other memories as well, to the memories of the many hundreds, _thousands_ of Kronya’s who’d spurned Byleth’s help. It is almost the same, Byleth’s quest to save her, despite her own suicidal tendencies, despite everything she’d done to Byleth over the millennia, as Dimitri’s own quest to save Edelgard, to find common ground with her.

And now…

Now…

“Yeah.” Kronya speaks.

She reaches out, and takes ahold of Byleth’s hand.

“Let’s go.”

It seems that cycle shall end here as well.

She allows Byleth to help her up, and to catch her when her legs prove insufficient support. She allows Sothis and Byleth both to put themselves under her arms and haul her away. And suddenly, they’re pulling her towards a golden door that she’s only just now seen, and she wonders how exactly she’d managed to miss it before, when it’s been there the whole–

\-----

The thing Byleth feels first is the utter exhaustion of her body. Every single one of her muscles chooses to cry out in exasperation, entirely done with her pulling yet another stunt. Unfortunately for them, she doesn’t much care, given that, as she rises out of the ‘sleep’ that both her and Sothis have been under, she has more important things on her mind.

Namely, the girl on which both she and Sothis are leaning on.

Her goddess awakens a good 20 seconds after her, and has a very similar reaction, standing up and seemingly trying to ignore the exhaustion of her body as she focuses in on Kronya. Unfortunately for her, she’s interrupted from out of her trancelike state by Rhea, who practically tackles her mother in a hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you’re alright.” Rhea speaks to the goddess in her arms. “Did you do it? Did it work?”

Sothis, much like Byleth herself, seems hesitant to say anything yet.

“It should have worked.” She speaks. “But…”

Kronya’s naked body is unmoving, completely still.

Dead.

Byleth reaches down and places her ear to the woman’s heart. She hears no beating, no bodily functions whatsoever. Her own heart turns in her chest, and worry bubbles up past her lips as she pulls away, and bites at her bottom lip in concern.

If they’d done something wrong… made a mistake somewhere… they had no way of fixing it. They’d surrendered their basin of power, their dominion over time, to bring Kronya back. Ultimately, though, it is Sothis’ hand on her shoulder, and the comforting words she speaks to her through their shared mental link, which seems to have persisted past the loss of their power, that pulls her out of that raw panic.

_“Hey, c’mon. We have to believe in her, right?”_

She nods her head, knowing that the woman beside her is right. She leans back down and places her ear against the woman’s heart once more. She’s listening for anything, any tiny beat, feeling for any movement, responding to any touch.

They wait in agonizing silence for what feels like forever. Rhea paces the room behind them, Sothis stands there with her hands clasped together, looking like she’s almost praying, and Byleth feels like, if she had been a more religious person, she’d have been doing just that.

And then… entirely unannounced, without any pomp or circumstance… the tiniest of ‘ba-bumps’ echoes out from Kronya’s chest.

It is such a minuscule sound; one that goes off inside one’s chest tens of thousands of times a day. And yet… hearing it now, it is as if the universe finally makes sense to her, as if the meaning of life is laid to bare.

She feels the moment of Kronya returning to life should be some… magical, otherworldly thing. She really doesn’t think the girl should immediately mutter “Fuck, my throat hurts like a bitch” under her breath, but, well, Byleth supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

And then, in the next moment, the girl’s eyes flutter open.

She takes in the room slowly, her deep, red irises gazing around the space. They flicker from the ceiling to the walls around her, and then, funnily enough, to the hair on the top of her head, which, instead of being the bright orange hue it had been before, has taken on a slight, greenish tint. It looks… well…

“Ugh…” She murmurs, evidently still groggy, as she reaches up with her hand, and grasps onto a single strand. “I look like a clown.”

A snicker pours its way out of Byleth’s mouth before she can so much as process that, even past the tears running down her face. Funnily enough, she’s almost a direct mirror of how Kronya had been just minutes prior.

“No offense…” She mutters through her tears. “But you always looked like a clown.”

And then Kronya’s eyes lock onto hers.

They widen slightly as she seems to remember exactly what it is they’d said to one another. It takes Kronya a moment to formulate her thoughts, but when she’s finished, she smiles over at her in a way that belies the terrifying figure she’d been once upon a time. It is a gentle expression, reminding Byleth of the look she’d shot her on her deathbed down in the bowels of Shambala.

Some of her true feelings leaking through her hardened exterior.

“Hey.” Byleth speaks, a bit annoyed at how dumb that sounds. “How are you feeling?”

Kronya shrugs, before wincing as a pain lances through her at that movement. “Like shit, to be honest.”

Rhea nods at that, as if that’s not at all out of expectation.

“Yes, well, just because you’ve returned to life does not mean the injuries you took when you died are entirely healed. Your heart itself was already mended by Mercedes, but your muscles, bones, and other bodily functions themselves will take far longer to heal. Even though your body is getting a hell of a boost from the extra life energy residing within it now, that doesn’t mean you’re suddenly fully recovered.”

“Ah, shit.” Kronya sighs, seemingly reading the future. “You’re going to tell me to–”

“Rest.” Rhea interrupts with a smug expression before Kronya can finish speaking, though the girl lets out a horrendous groan as she’s pushed into the firm mattress of the medical bed by the Archbishop. “I hate to say this Byleth, but I’m afraid your reunion will need to be delayed by quite a bit. Kronya here, much like _you and mother_ , needs her sleep.”

Byleth can’t help pursing her lips at that.

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” Rhea stares her down. “You were _oh so willing_ to get back to sleep before you knew what it was you were doing! Don’t make me go and get Mercedes.”

She raises her hands in surrender immediately, as does Sothis, and, funnily enough, Kronya as well, who seems to have the memories of just what an angry Mercedes looks like and doesn’t much want to deal with that.

She looks over to the now prone Kronya and shoots her a supportive smile. “I’ll try to drop in as soon as I can, okay?”

Kronya shakes her head, sighing. “Don’t worry about it. I… I think I could use some time to myself, actually. Not too long, I don’t think, but… maybe a couple of weeks.” She scratches the back of her neck rather awkwardly. “I know you might not want to hear that, but-”

“No. If you think you need it, then take it.” Sothis walks just past her, and gestures for her to follow. “But… if you need anything, know we’ll be around, okay?

Kronya nods, and Byleth finds herself content with that. She makes to turn around, but a quick callout of “Wait!” Stops her in her tracks. She peers back at the woman lying there and sees her avoiding her eyes.

“What’s up?”

“I… Just…” Kronya lets out a worldly sigh, appearing both annoyed and embarrassed. “I’m only going to say this once, got it!?”

She can’t help the confusion showing on her face.

“O…kay?”

Kronya looks down and away from her, towards the wall just off to her right, seemingly trying to find anything else to do but what she must. Finally, she lets out a growl, as if aggravated with herself for being so weak, and speaks her words into the air.

“…Thank you.”

And somehow… somehow those words make all the difference.

“Now, don’t say anything, alright!?” The girl huffs out. “Just… go, okay?”

Byleth finds herself wanting to laugh, but instead, she merely shakes her head, and responds only with a nod.

“I’ll see you later, Kronya." She speaks as she steps away. "Oh, and… Welcome back, .”

“Hah…” The woman seems to see the significance of her words. “Yeah… see you later, Byleth.”

She and Sothis turn towards the mouth of the tent. Idly, the girl beside her reaches over and intertwines her fingers with Byleth’s. She seems to relish in the contact, and Byleth cannot blame her for that, as she does as well.

Their power, what they’ve given in order to allow Kronya to live, to allow Sothis to persist in this world in this form… She can feel it fading. The last dregs of magics that are still attached to hers and Sothis’ forms are evaporating off, returning to their natural positions in entropy. With no one to hold its reins, time flows freely once more, unabated, unquestioned, unburdened.

But that is no longer their dominion, no longer their concern.

And so, with a tiny, peaceful feeling in her heart, Byleth wishes it well as she steps out of the medical tent, and, for what feels like the first time in six millennia, into the mortal world beyond.

\-----

The next several moons pass in the blink of an eye for Byleth, though she understands that is not exactly a universal feeling for some, namely the lords, who each have bags beneath their bags from trying to manage the end of the war, and the peaceful period set to follow.

Namely, they’re mostly discussing ways for the four of them to all be happy with the end result, and even if, technically, Edelgard should be doing most of the reparations, on account of starting the war itself, well, apparently annihilating the people who’d murdered the majority of her family and seeing her mother again has made Rhea far more amicable, for she takes most things with a smile these days, almost entirely willing to compromise, no matter what the topic.

Still, arranging a scenario where Dimitri gets the united front he wishes for, where Edelgard gets the church scaled back as she’s always wanted, where Claude gets security for the alliance in preparation for his departure, and where Rhea gets to keep some authority is… well, difficult doesn’t even really begin to describe it, and it is a testament to all of them that they’ve even come up with _a_ plan, let alone a good one.

Currently, Byleth has made her way to Garreg Mach, the middle ground of the three major countries of Fódlan, where the four lords have gathered. Not just them, hell, a fraction of the population of Fódlan itself has gathered into the nearby towns surrounding the Monastery itself. That is largely because an announcement is set to be made by the leaders of those three countries, and the head of the church, one that will, if she’s heard everything they’ve said correctly, change the course of the world forever.

It’s still a while before the speech, and, more importantly, the treatise session, is set to be held, and so for now, Byleth is sat in the old dormitory of one Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, along with Edelgard von Hresvelg, and Claude von Riegan.

One would think that, with only a few hours until the turning point of the continent itself, they, some of the most powerful and influential figures in all of Fódlan, arguably _the_ most powerful and influential, would be discussing important matters.

“So Edelgard was totally the one who actually proposed, right?”

“H-Hey, I’ll have you know that–!”

“I was.”

“E-El!”

They are not.

“I – You–” Dimitri seems to flounder for quite a while whilst searching for something to say. “Well, I simply felt it wasn’t the right time for it! El… she surprised me, and, well, of course I was going to say yes, but that’s-”

Edelgard smirks in amusement as she places a hand over her fiancé’s mouth, shushing him. “I actually agree with him on that, it certainly feels a bit too early for the two of us to be getting engaged, but, unfortunately for us, timing is not a luxury we possess. The people will need a ratifying moment to latch onto with what they’ll be learning today, and what better ratifying agreement then a marriage between the leaders of two of the major nations?”

“I…” Dimitri sighs as Edelgard takes her hand away. “I suppose you’re not _incorrect_ , but–”

“There’s no shame in being proposed _to_ , Dimitri.” Byleth speaks up for the first time in a good 15 minutes, having been merely enjoying watching the chaos taking place before her. “If anything, I’d say it’ll only make you more adorable to the masses when you stammer and stutter like that whenever it gets brought up.”

Dimitri does not take that well. His face goes bright red, and he seems to want to retort, but he cannot quite manage to, as Edelgard is leaning back onto his bed, and laughing heartily at his expense.

Claude is more reserved, though he’s still rather unsubtly chuckling.

“You are all terrible.” Dimitri mutters helplessly.

A knock on the door behind them signals that their little gossip meeting is at its end, for Dedue, Hubert, and Hilda are all standing there, looking mightily tired themselves. It seems being the retainers to the most powerful people on the continent isn’t much easier than being them themselves.

“The noon bell will strike in ten minutes.” Hubert speaks for all of them. “I believe you all agreed that you’d be giving your speech then?”

The three lords present all nod at that, and she and they all stand, beginning their walk out towards the top of the cathedral which overlooks the entire monastery, where the mages who can amplify their voices are set up. Crowds have already begun to gather en masse in the courtyard, and even beyond that, at the gates and other sections of the road up Garreg Mach itself. They’ve been told that, unfortunately, the surrounding areas can really only accommodate a good ten or so thousand people (Which Byleth had been astounded to learn had only been about a tenth of the people who’d wanted to attend), and so they’ve modulated the voice amplification to be at a certain volume and no higher.

They’re not trying to blow out any eardrums here.

As they walk along the hallways, the other three lords find themselves distracted with something that’s probably obscenely important, but something Byleth wants nothing to do with, so she sneaks away when she has a window to do so and tries to see what Sothis has been up to.

She finds her discussing things rather amicably with Rhea, who’s planning on joining the other leaders during their speech. If Byleth’s correct, then she has the most minor part of all of them, as her role is rather simple, and since they’re planning on dolling out their church reforms over the course of many years, instead of right now as they are with the others, she seems completely fine with that, as well.

She admits she doesn’t really follow _all_ of the plan… but she thinks she knows enough about it to make snide remarks at least.

Still, as the noon bell finally does ring, she, Rhea, and Sothis find themselves making their way up towards the balcony of the Cathedral’s top floor, which, when she thinks about it, she realizes is actually the balcony of Rhea’s room itself.

Said woman smiles a bit awkwardly when Byleth brings that up, but comments that, for lack of any better options, and so that everyone in the nearby vicinity could see all four of them, this had been about the only choice.

She acknowledges the woman’s point, even if she’s pretty sure she won’t be offering her own bedroom for something like this any time soon.

The roar of the cheers as all four of the major powerhouses of Fódlan; Dimitri, Claude, Edelgard, and Rhea, step out onto the balcony and into the vision of the masses below is nearly deafening, even from where Byleth’s standing, just out of view of the public themselves. She watches as the mages beside all four cast the amplification magics, targeting their vocal cords themselves, and give their nods.

Dimitri clears his throat, and the sound, which cuts through the courtyard and surrounding areas like a sonic boom, is enough to begin to hush the crowd. Still, while they’re waiting for as much silence as they’re going to get, he turns around, and, unexpectedly, locks eyes with Byleth herself.

The look on his face is one she’s seen before, but sparingly. It is the expression on his face when he completes his personal journey, when he conquers the visions that will torment him for the rest of his life. It is a look of purest gratitude, of abject appreciation and thanks.

She nods her head at him, giving a small, hopefully meaningful smile in return, one he returns with a silent laugh as he looks back towards the crowds below, and takes a single step forward.

And then, he begins his speech.

“Citizens of Fódlan. I would like to first say how proud I am to stand before each and every one of you today, as both King of Faerghus, and merely as a man, as Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd.” A smattering of applause for the opening line, and then the people go quiet once more. “These last six years have taken a toll on all of us, and it’s vitally important that, now that the war is over, we abandon grudges that suit not this period of peace. The villains behind the war, those who manipulated every kingdom of Fódlan, including mine own, have been put to rest. Now, my compatriots and I shall look towards the future of this continent, and I would ask, despite how difficult it may be, that every one of you do the same.”

Byleth can’t help marveling at the deftness with which Dimitri has executed his opening lines. In a single paragraph, he’s spoken of his own importance to those who may be only vaguely aware of him, but also reminded them that he is human, just as they are, allowing them to empathize with him despite his authority. He speaks of the war as something in the past, and as something not caused by those around them, but by a shadowy organization, the true, behind the scenes evil, that had been pulling the strings. Pulling not just the Empire’s strings, but even his own kingdom’s. By doing this, he takes the burden of blame for the war off of Edelgard, which will let her, in turn, speak with far less issue later on. Finally, he closes out with a reminder to the crowd that, even if they don’t believe peace can be achieved, the only way it truly can be is through cooperation, cooperation he himself will take part in, and that he’s asked every single one of them to do so as well.

It also makes sense, from a diplomatic standpoint, to allow Dimitri to be the one to say all of that. As the general of the armies that’d marched upon Embarr itself, he has the authority to call for peace, whereas a similar remark from Edelgard, the army being marched upon, Rhea, who’d been missing at the time, or Claude, who’d been handling his own situation, might ring hollow.

She almost wants to clap, but refrains, as that would probably kill the young king’s flow.

Sothis has no such qualms, whistling in a rather impressed way that’s _just barely_ quiet enough to not disturb those still speaking.

She tunes back into Dimitri’s speech as he finishes his opening remarks and carries onto the meat of the day’s announcements.

“Today marks the end of a long period of country-wide power bids, of our neighbors and ourselves vying for supremacy over Fódlan’s heart. We shall put an end to all of it, here and now, with the birth of a new Fódlan.”

The three other lords join Dimitri, and though there’s some light applause for all of them, it’s clear most still hang on the Blue King’s words.

“For the sake of this continent’s future, and for the sake of it’s people, we, the leaders of our nations, have made the decision to combine our strength into one country, into one unified front. We, here and now, announce our intentions to create the United Kingdoms of Fódlan!”

Now that certainly gets some attention. Byleth thinks she can hear both cheering and a few confused people shout out “What?”, but all in all, only a small percentage of the crowd seem actively opposed to the idea, which feels like it’s about as good as they’re going to get.

“Encompassing the territories of the Leicester Alliance, The Adrestian Empire, and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus,” Now, it is Claude speaking, having taken over after Dimitri’s last line. “This new territory will be governed in a triumvirate by the leaders of all three nations and taking in more and more seats for both councilors and advisors as we begin to experiment with what’s needed to make sure that all people’s, from all lands, have their voice.”

That earns some nice applause, as, though the language utilized is flowery, it is still rather easy to comprehend as a positive.

Rhea steps forwards next. “The Church of Seiros will be stepping back from matters of government and taking a more relaxed role in politics altogether. No cathedrals, or other places of worship, will be impacted in any way by this, but we will no longer be limiting the belief of other pantheons or deities. All people’s present within Fódlan are free to believe in who and what they wish to.”

Not much applause for that one, then again, Byleth’s pretty sure that’s the least popular of their new initiatives.

Lastly, it is Edelgard who steps up.

“Know that, though your lives may not be affected by these changes immediately, you will likely see the ramifications in the years to come. We will ask for your cooperation, your patience, and your willingness to compromise during this time.” Not exactly the most popular portion of the speech thus far, but Edelgard doesn’t seem finished in the least. “However, that is not the only announcement that is to be made today. In addition to everything else that has been said, Myself, Empress Edelgard von Hresvelg, and King Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, are to be wed on the moon of the final signing ceremony itself, in one year’s time.”

Now that has the people roaring, though Byleth’s not exactly sure why they’d care about the personal lives of their royalty.

They go on a bit longer after that, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes of grand speeches and the like, before, finally, Dimitri seems to see fit to draw this to a close.

“For now, know that we’re doing everything in our power to make sure this transition is as smooth and seamless as it possibly can be. We thank all that came to be here today, as well as everyone who will soon hear of this news via messenger or otherwise, for their devotion to the countries of Fódlan. But, even more importantly than that, we urge each and every one of you to never stop striving forward, to what lies beyond; towards a brighter future.”

As the four step away from the balcony, and cheers ring out throughout the entire monastery, Byleth finds herself walking up almost instinctively, and patting Dimitri on the back.

“Excellent work out there, oh kingly king.”

He gives a smile at her words, but otherwise says nothing.

“What?” She asks, confused. “You alright?”

One of the nearby mages taps her on the shoulder. “Uhm, I’m afraid, were he to talk right now, he’d blow the eardrums of nearly everyone present right out.”

“Oh… I see.”

The Mages finish disenchanting all four figures who’ve spoken, and Dimitri finally takes a moment to laugh at her stupid joke.

“Well now I don’t believe you.” She glares at him.

“Better late than never, no, Professor?” He remarks with a teasing expression. “But seriously, thank you for your words. I only wish our work were finished. Instead, if anything, I’ll be finding myself far busier in the coming months than ever.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It… has its moments.” He smiles saccharinely, in a way that betrays his true thoughts on the matter. “Speaking of, how have you been these last few months, Professor?”

“Eh…” she gives a 50/50 gesture with one hand. “Fine-ish. Mostly just trying to help stabilize stuff, like you.”

He nods, their group walking down the steps of the cathedral, and down into the main worshipping hall, which is filled to the brim with people who’ve come to… well… worship. After a moment to gather his thoughts, and with a bit of nervous energy about him, Dimitri asks her an unexpected question. “And how would you want to think about continuing that?”

“Continuing what?”

“I mean… How would you feel about taking up a job in helping the stability of the nation itself? A leadership position, like the four of us? You’re certainly qualified for it.”

“Are you asking me if I want to help lead the United Kingdoms of Fódlan?” She gives a quiet laugh at the thought of that, remembering back to the many lifetimes where there’d simply been no one else to take up the role at all, and she’d been forced into it. It’d been… an interesting experience, but… “Hah, sorry, but no. I’m afraid I’ve had enough drama for one lifetime. I plan to relax for the next while, doing what I love, with those I love.”

Dimitri nods in a way that tells her he’d never really believed for a second that she’d actually say yes, but the fact that he’d been desperate enough to ask anyway gives some insight into the fact that his situation must be a bit more dire than she’d expected.

“Ah, well. I suppose no one can fault you for that, Professor.” He scratches at his chin, appearing rather lost in thought. “I wonder if I could get someone level-headed like Mercedes to consider joining up…”

She smirks at that, quite amused. “I think she’s already found her calling as well, I’m afraid.”

He nods. “Yes, well… it still couldn’t hurt to try.”

She laughs at that. “Sheesh, I thought you were desperate, but wow.”

“Professor, the four of us simply _cannot_ do this on our own. Trust me when I say we’ve learned that the hard way.”

She laughs at his misfortune a second time, before the conversation gravitates, oddly enough, back towards the topic they’d been discussing earlier.

“So, Edelgard proposed to you, ey?”

He sighs. “If you must know, then yes.” He clears his throat at a few nearby guards who laugh at his expense, and they go suspiciously quiet rather quickly. “We were working on paperwork to send to some of the more minor nobles for the unification process, when all of a sudden she just… asked if I’d marry her.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!” He shouts just a bit louder than he perhaps needs to. “No fanfare, no… no big moment! Just says it over tea, like it’s the most casual thing ever, and of course I say yes, because I _do_ want to marry her, but… she just goes “Well, I guess that’s settled” And then the next day she has the rings and…” He’s panting, and Byleth doesn’t mind that he’s very clearly venting to her about this. “Goddess, I just wish she’d slow down for a moment.”

She smiles a bit sadly. “I think she’s scared to. You know why, don’t you?”

He nods, sighing. “Of course. But… if all you do is work so that you can accomplish your goals in your shortened life, then all you’ll ever do _is_ work.” His eyes take on a rather sad note. “I just wish she’d enjoy herself every once in a while.”

She pats him on the shoulder supportively. “Why don’t you tell her that?”

“I fear she would take it as an affront to who she is…” He remarks with an affronted moan. “But… at the same time… perhaps you’re right, Professor. She does need to stop before she exhausts herself, hell, you’ve seen how fatigued she looks already, she needs the rest.”

Byleth laughs. “I’d say all four of you need the rest, Rhea included.”

Dimitri seems to realize there’s a good chance she’s right about that as he yawns with poor timing, the bags under his eyes showing through rather easily.

“Well, I don’t know about–”

Before Dimitri can finish his statement, a scream rings out throughout the cathedral hall. They both turn to see three moderately armed figures charging in towards them.

And Byleth recognizes them.

Remnants of the Agarthans.

Those Who Slither in the Dark.

In a normal scenario, she might fear for her life. No ability to control time, no guards near them prepared to fight for them, those ones who Dimitri had cowed earlier only just now reaching for their weapons; hell, she doesn’t even have a weapon on her, the longsword she’d brought along for the meeting still in her own dormitory.

But instead, she smiles.

For Byleth knows something these assailants don’t.

Before they can even make it halfway across the hall, a shadowy figure descends from seemingly out of nowhere, the twin blades in their hands curling around their body in a flashy show of steel and ferocity. With but a slice, they eviscerate the agents before they can even see what’s hit them. The now headless Agarthans are sent tumbling to the floor below a moment later, dead as can be.

A few nearby civilians, and a few members of the monastery who really shouldn’t be seeing combat, scream out at that, but others seem to sigh in relief at seeing the insurgents eliminated before they can cause any damage.

Dimitri takes to action almost immediately.

“Find out how they got in!” He speaks, walking towards the guards at the entrance with the authority of someone who _knows_ he’s the most powerful person in the room. “Make sure no one was harmed, and if they were, see to it that they receive medical attention immediately! We’ll do a sweep of the perimeter, notify the head guardsmen!”

As the man heads off with the nearby knights, Byleth turns towards the figure who’d saved their lives, and smirks a bit casually at them.

“Y’know, I’ve gotta’ say, it’s cool to have my own retainer.” She laughs. “I feel like a real lord, now.”

Said figure bristles as she pulls down her hood, and reveals the warm, almost acid-colored locks beneath it.

“Oh, shut up.” Kronya glares at her. “I’m here because I was invited. I am NOT your retainer.”

That has her a bit confused. “Who invited you? I mean, besides me, obviously.”

“I did, actually.”

Byleth turns to see that Edelgard of all people is walking over towards them, waving her hand at both of them.

“You did?” She asks the approaching Empress.

“Well, she saved your life at the capital, and you felt the need to use your power itself as a modicum to revive her. I decided that she had every right to be here to witness the dawn of a new world, the same as any of us.”

“Hah. See, invited by the empress.” Kronya laughs at her. “Suck it.”

“Wow, so very mature.”

The twenty-four-year-old Agarthan sticks out her tongue at her like a child.

“But, actually, there was something I wanted to discuss with you, Professor.” Edelgard says as she falls in line with them and begins walking back towards the dormitories now that people are filing out of the Monastery itself. “Would you be at all opposed to a gathering of our old class here in the Monastery in around a years’ time? Of course, once we’re able to lock down the conditions for the unification, mind you. I figured that it could serve as both a celebration of that event, and also a reunion of sorts. After all, I don’t think our entire class has been back to Garreg Mach in some time, apart from that very brief stint where we all considered each other more enemy than ally, and, well…”

That Edelgard at least partially blames herself for that is heard; but left unsaid.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Edelgard.” She smiles to show her sincerity. “Have you spoken with any of the other lords about this?”

“Well, of course I’ve spoken to Dimitri about it, as we seem to have nothing but time together these days, and I brought the idea up to both Claude and Rhea this morning, what with all of us being on the ruling council for the unification. Neither had anything negative to say about it, so I figured I would finish by asking you.”

“Then know you have my support as well.” She turns to Kronya with a teasing expression. “Hey, Kronya, you technically attended for a while, how would you like to-”

“No, I am _not_ going to your little reuinion, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

Byleth laughs.

“Ah, well. Was worth a shot.” She turns back to Edelgard. “No, but seriously, I think that sounds like a lovely idea. I’ll be there. What about some of our other classmates? Have you heard from any of them?”

“I spoke with those whom I’m close to, Hubert is a rather obvious one, and I ran into Dorothea and Ferdinand as well, but other than those three, I’m afraid not.”

She hums in acknowledgment of that.

“Ah, well, I’m sure the rest are keeping busy. Still, as their teacher, I wish they’d check up with me every once in a while,” She stares at the Empress out of the corner of her eye. “And not just drop off the face of the damned planet while they’re busy working on important projects.”

Edelgard laughs, evidently seeing that as partially directed at her. “I’ll try to keep in touch more, Professor.”

“See that you do.” She smirks. “Alright, I’ve enjoyed our conversation, but I’m afraid I–”

“Professor?”

She turns and sees a far more serious look on Edelgard features than she’d been expecting. The glint in her eyes, especially, is equal parts guilt and resolve.

“I… there is something I’ve been meaning to say to you for quite a while.” She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, which is a behavior that Byleth’s thinks she’s seen only a handful of times across all of her lifetimes. “I… just…”

She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. “You don’t have to be hesitant with me, Edelgard. I promise no matter what you say, I’m not going to judge you any differently.”

“I…” She shakes her head with a small, amused look on her face. “Always the same, aren’t you, Professor. Supportive even here.”

She shrugs jokingly. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t plan on changing on that particular front.”

“No, that’s completely fine; _preferred_ , even. I’d much rather you stay exactly as you are, Professor.” She smiles, and she seems just a bit more confident than she’d been a few seconds ago. “Simply put… Thank you. For never giving up on me.” She sees as Kronya, just beside her, flinches slightly at Edelgard’s words. “For trying to turn me against my chosen path even in my darkest moments. I already said this to Dimitri, but… It occurred to me that I never once thanked you for it as well. Even when I’d given up on life, just a puppet of the Agarthans, you still reached out your hand, along with him. So… From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Professor.”

Byleth sees the way that Kronya’s face distorts, and she knows why. She won’t call the woman on it; won’t try and ruin the growing trust between them; but she knows without even hearing a thing from out of her that her Agarthan partner is feeling more than a little guilty herself.

“Hah…” She mutters under her breath, looking right into Edelgard’s eyes as she thinks of just what to say. “You didn’t have to say all of that, y’know?”

“Yes, that may be true, Professor,” She speaks with a tiny smirk on her face. “But I wanted to.”

She catches Kronya’s gaze turning away from her as she looks the woman’s way, can see the dusting of pink upon her cheeks, and finds a piece of her heart settling somewhat.

“In that case…”

That Kronya can’t say what she feels… That’s fine…

Byleth knows what she means.

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe... so uh... psych?
> 
> In all seriousness, this is the second to last chapter of this fic... again. I had intended for it to be the last, but ultimately, the contents of this chapter became just a biiit too long to try and add what would've been like another entire chapter to the end of this one. So, I split it in twain. I hope you'll understand!
> 
> Final chapter (for real, this time) should come out... I wanna say around this time in March? I'm not too terribly sure, but that sounds vaguely correct. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you thought of this chapter (I'm sure people have very mixed opinions about a certain thing that took place) in a comment down below! I always love reading them, and I try and respond to every single one! Also, I never really thought about this, but if you don't want a response, then you could put that in your comment haha, I don't mind!
> 
> Alright, see you all in the Finale (but for real this time)!


End file.
